Changes
by ForeverChasingDreams
Summary: Everything Alex knows has been ripped from him, and his mind and body torn to shreds. Now he has to recover what little he can from the wreckage, and deal with the storms that are coming. It's a good thing K Unit are there to pull him through as he struggles to fight off old and new demons. Now Complete.
1. Desperation

_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz, not me._

_This is a lovely rewritten chapter of the original - it contains the same content (mostly) but has been tweaked and rewritten to flow better. Chapters 2 and 3 may also be done at some point soon - three years can make a large difference to your writing style!_

* * *

_'Your present circumstances don't determine where you can go; they merely determine where you start.'_

_(Nido Qubein)_

Somewhere along the way Alex had lost track of time. There was no window in here. The only way to tell the difference between night and day was the switching on and off of the lights, and when they were feeling particularly vindictive, the harsh white bulbs never turned off at all. It had been days, weeks, probably even months, and he had almost given up hope of rescue. He was resigned to his fate – and he knew it would be an awful one. Nothing really changed in here. People walked past and bleeding bodies were brought back. Water was brought and empty cups taken away. Food was given and rubbish removed. Time trickled past him but he couldn't find the energy to care.

Images of his captors tormented him every moment he was left alone, but their real life counterparts were worse. Alex was so weak by now he could barely stand, and after the last bout of torture he'd thought he'd surely pass away into the quiet darkness. Instead he'd awoken yet again, and tried to stall the moisture in his eyes. Death seemed like a relief, and like every other positive, it had been denied him. The only human contact he had was from those who wished to harm him, taking delight in his muffled cries of pain and fear. His pride had shattered, in here. He had lost the will to care. They came every few days, depending on how bad his last injuries had been. They couldn't get answers out of someone unconscious, after all.

It was becoming hard to remember the outside world, and Alex knew how much of a cliché that was. That didn't change the truth of the statement though; he would give anything to simply stand outside and feel _alive_. It was difficult to feel real, sometimes, when you were left alone for long periods of time. He thought absurd things like, _maybe I'm dreaming_, or _perhaps this is simply what hell is like_. He could no longer remember what sunlight looked like. He couldn't picture grass swaying in the wind. He couldn't recall what it felt like to be warm and comfortable, or that long sought after feeling of being safe – free from the terror of this captivity – and of being _loved. _Oh, Ian had never granted him that, except possibly when Alex was very young. The man had been absent too much, and kept too many secrets even when he was home. A wedge had been growing between the two of them for years prior to the man's death. Alex mourned more the loss of opportunities to reconcile with Ian than the man himself – and he felt awful for that.

Jack, on the other hand . . . Jack was a beacon of light in the darkness, a little star twinkling in the night sky, refusing to allow the London fog to rub her out. She'd been his saving grace, his _raison d'etre _, and now- Well, now, Alex had no one.

Alex was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of voices.

"Is the boy awake?" asked a man, and Alex didn't recognise it. That didn't mean it was safe. He tensed and berated himself for not being alert enough to even notice the men before they were right outside his cell until they spoke. That kind of mistake could cost him his life. It nearly had already, and he would always know that his unawareness was the reason for his capture. The memory of that day was seared into his mind and, as he sat in his cold cell, it played before his eyes again-

_(-Whilst carefree was a bit of strong emotion to use, Alex had to admit it was somewhat true. The sun shone in the clear blue sky, despite the freezing temperature, and he couldn't help but smile. The first appearance of the sun after a bleak winter always cheered him up – and did the same to Jack, who had been happily dancing around the house this morning, singing along to Mamma Mia._

_He was on his way home from school, having said goodbye to Tom a few minutes ago. His I-Pod was plugged in one ear, a low rock tune playing that he caught himself mouthing along to at times. His other ear was free to listen out for suspicious noises, but he freely admitted he was not feeling very paranoid._

_After a series of arguments – on Alex's side, anyway – Blunt and Jones had agreed to install him as a fully paid agent with proper rights as he was now sixteen, and that meant he had two months of rest after his last mission at least. He was determined to enjoy it._

_Jack wasn't happy, of course she wasn't, but she'd accepted it. Alex didn't think he could leave the business behind. It was addicting, and he was a helpless junkie, following in his family's footsteps. Jack was merely upset because she felt useless; her inability to protect him frustrated her to no end. Alex knew she hated watching him suffer after missions, waking night after night due to terrors that she could scarcely imagine and he never wanted her to experience._

_He spotted one of his neighbours strolling towards him, a petite old woman known to him as Mrs Madon. She had never seemed to care about his injuries or the many rumours about his drug use – in fact, she existed almost in a world of her own a lot of the time. Alex wondered privately if she didn't have some sort of neurological disorder, such as Alzheimer's. She was fairly alone in the world, and both he and Jack made the effort to talk to her as regularly as they could. Jack dropped round shopping on occasion, and helped her out with financial matters. The old woman's family had never been seen to visit._

"_Morning, Mrs Madon," Alex greeted her, tugging his headphone out of his ear and smiling at her._

_She looked up at him, pulling her shopping trolley up next to her and letting it stand still. She got out and about when she could, something Alex very much admired. She never gave up._

"_Alex," she exclaimed in her rasping voice. "How are you, dear?"_

_Alex touched her on the arm lightly. "I'm very good, thank you," he said, watching her eyes snap back to him with the touch. She had a tendency to wander if you didn't keep her focused. "You?"_

"_Hmm?" she said, before smiling at him. "Oh, I'm fine," she said. "Only the arthritis that bothers me, and that's nothing I can't deal with."_

"_I'm glad," Alex replied, his attention caught briefly by a car whizzing past. _

"_My granddaughter's coming to visit," Mrs Madon informed him, though her eyes were looking past him. Alex mustered up a cheerful expression. He had never seen this granddaughter, despite the old lady telling him often she was coming around. Perhaps he always missed her, but he suspected the girl was merely too busy to care about her grandmother – or didn't exist. _

_Alex acted surprised. "Lovely,"_

"_Yes," Mrs Madon agreed. "She's about your age, Alex, dear. She turns eighteen next month."_

_Alex shook his head gently. "I'm only sixteen," he told her._

"_Oh," she said with a small frown. "Time runs away from me, now," she explained lightly. "It's the age."_

_Alex nodded, unsure what to say. "It'll be nice to see her,"_

"_Yes," Mrs Madon replied. "You must come round and say hello some time. You'll like her."_

"_Of course," Alex said, inclining his head. _

"_I must be off," the old woman said suddenly. "I've got shopping to do. Have a good day, Alex."_

"_I'll see you soon, yeah?" Alex replied, used to her random declarations and actions. _

_They shared goodbyes, and Alex headed off towards home. He liked Mrs Madon. Her little problems and interesting anecdotes grounded him – and it was nice to have someone to chat to who wasn't affected by rumours._

_He put his earphone back in and strolled leisurely home. He was just turning off his I-Pod on the front step on his house when he heard a faint scream and a bang. He stood stock still, blood pounding through his body. What was that? A swear word barely formed, he slipped into the house, adrenaline flooding through him. Don't jump to conclusions, he told himself sternly. Jack might have been watching a scary film, as she was prone to doing. It's nothing, he kept repeating. But something wasn't right._

_He stood, silent, in the hallway, his head cocked to the side. There was no noise; that was the main thing he noticed. If Jack was watching a film, where was the sound? And if she had been attacked – and he bit his lip in distress at the thought – where were the attackers? He hesitated outside the kitchen door, knowing that was where she would probably be. The living room was connected to the kitchen, so whether she was watching a movie, or preparing dinner, she would be through the door._

_He pushed open the door, his muscles tense and ready to fight. There was no sign of intruders, apart from-_

"_Jack!" he gasped desperately, all thoughts of personal safety evaporating as he ran to her side. No, no, no . . . This couldn't be happening! "Jack," he murmured again, his voice cracking as he knelt next to her. His hands hovered, uncertain, and he grabbed her wrist to check her pulse._

_She was dead. He knew that; there was no way she could have survived, but her lack of heartbeat hit him like a knife to the chest anyway._

"_Jack, please," he choked, tears beginning to swim in his eyes. She didn't move. She was lying on the kitchen floor, her hair spread around her, her limbs sprawled. Blood was seeping across the tiles, and the perfectly round hole in her forehead made it intimately obvious what had happened._

"_You bastards," Alex hissed to himself, before suppressing a sob. "Jack. . ."_

_Her pale skin contrasted so perfectly with the crimson blood and her fiery hair, and Alex wanted to kick something, lash out, scream to the world that she wasn't dead, couldn't be dead, shouldn't be. This wasn't fair, he thought viciously, swiping a hand across his eyes. He pressed his lips to her hand, speckled with the blood seeping from her body, and he saw another wound on her abdomen too – a knife, by the looks of it. Wasn't the bullet enough? _

"_Did you have to destroy her completely?" he frantically asked the world at large, anger rising and fuelling the flames of grief. They mingled together, growing as his body shook over hers. "No," he said. "No, no, no," he repeated, the words catching in his throat. "Please," he whispered._

_She didn't rise. She lay, still, on the floor, no evidence of her cheerful grin and fierce personality left. She had been larger than life in many ways, an independent and impassioned woman who allowed no one to control her. She'd taught herself martial arts, way back when Alex was a kid and learning himself, determined not to be left behind by her charge. She'd been like that. She wouldn't be helpless or useless, and was damn well going to get what she wanted. Men who dated her learnt fast not to underestimate her, or were left by the wayside as she moved on._

_Alex loved her – had loved her, and always would. She was like an overprotective big sister, and she had shown her love for him every single day and in every movement she made. She was the one who held him after a nightmare, who pressed kisses to his hair when he sat, motionless and lost, on the sofa after a mission. Blunt hated her, Jones admired her, and Jack had made her impression at MI6 several times when Alex had not returned unscathed. And, oh, she wasn't perfect or always strong, but Alex loved her all the more for it. She wasn't a mother – had never pretended to be – and she'd accepted comfort from Alex as a sister would, when she was pulled down low. He'd defended her from idiot words and leering gazes, and despite her laughs, she'd always thanked him for it._

_Alex was so caught up in memories, in denial and in thought of what could have been and now would never be, that he didn't hear the footsteps of the so cleverly hidden men; the men who had killed Jack and then waited for him to appear, knowing that they wouldn't need to track him down. He would always go and help Jack, even if it meant sacrificing himself. _

_Someone grabbed him from behind, pulling him to his feet and away from Jack. His heart jumped, and he tore himself away, taken utterly by surprise but cursing himself all the same. He lashed out with a kick automatically, but the men – one, two, maybe three of them, he couldn't tell – were stronger than he was, older, and highly trained. His kick missed, but he didn't stop fighting._

_The fight lasted only a few seconds, until another man took him by surprise and punched him forcefully on the side of his head. Dizzy and stunned, he could do nothing as they wrapped a piece of cloth round his head. He breathed in an unknown scent, and struggled against the darkness that came upon him. But battle against it was useless, and he sank, almost gratefully, into the blissful darkness that the obviously drugged material brought upon him-)_

-"Looks like it," another man replied, and Alex snapped back to reality, pulling himself under control. He pressed his fingertips into his palms, taking refuge in the pain he caused – and controlled. He glared at the three men who peered at him.

"Definitely conscious," one agreed, smirking at him. "Looks like he could do with another round."

Alex shot daggers at them, his injuries throbbing as they spoke. He pushed down the unwanted memories of previous torture sessions, balling his fists tighter but making no effort to stand. His body ached with every breath he took, pain flaring at each movement, but he refused to back away. He would not surrender. They would get no information from him.

"Fuck you," he breathed furiously, and one man laughed sneeringly.

"Don't remember me, do you?" he taunted. "We had such fun before."

Alex pulled himself to his feet, resting on the wall to prevent from swaying as the malnutrition and dehydration left him weak. Vague recollections of pain and the man's voice were swimming through his mind and he bared his teeth. He would not be vulnerable.

"Sadist," Alex hissed at the man, as he recalled the man's cruelty. Flashes of pain sped through his body as if in response to the memories. He hated the way his limbs shook as he rested on them, but being denied steady food and water left him almost crippled.

The man smirked, but was stopped from moving forward by another's arm.

"We've been told not to harm him," this other man said in a low voice. "He's got to recover first, remember?"

The man spat on the floor, but didn't respond. Alex stared at them, trying to hide his relief. It was a rest period, then. He bloody well needed it. They went through cycles of pain and recovery, never hurting him enough to kill him outright, but just so that he would suffer for several days.

A third man unlocked the door and placed a plastic plate of bread and a cup of water on the floor. The other men trained guns on Alex as he did so, and Alex didn't move. Every brain cell was screaming at him to attack, to try and escape, to go down fighting if he must go down . . . But it was suicide, launching himself at them when they would shoot him without a moment's hesitation, and he wasn't stupid – or self-destructive.

The men retreated in silence this time, although Alex could hear their voices echoing down the corridor as they walked away. He shifted over to the food, lowering himself carefully to the ground and slowly eating his way through the bread, aware that his malnourished body would revolt if he ate too fast. He saved some of the water, knowing he would need it later on.

He was, for once, reasonably comfortable and he leant back against the wall. He shut his eyes. It wouldn't hurt to get some sleep. . .

* * *

He was woken by the sound of voices, and Alex kept his eyes closed for a little longer. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, and he was safer if they thought he was asleep.

"I don't think there's anyone down here," a strangely familiar voice said, and Alex dropped his façade. He cocked his head to the side, trying to work out from where he knew it. He didn't think it was one of his torturers, but he wasn't sure.

"I don't know where else he would be. MI6 told us that their agent would be in this building. We've looked everywhere. There's only here left," another voice said, and Alex strained his ears even further. The voices were coming closer, and Alex recognised two of them now. What was going on? MI6? Was it a joke, or was it a genuine rescue attempt-

_No,_ he said to himself. _Don't get your hopes up, idiot. _

It had been weeks, months, and no one seemed to be looking for him. It would be a trick, it always was.

"Let's just keep looking," said a third voice then, and Alex jolted as he heard it. He definitely knew that man. _Ben, _his mind whispered. Ben! That meant the others were K Unit, and he knew he'd recognised their voices!

He lurched to his feet unsteadily, cursing his weakness and tuning out the throbbing of his body. He peeked out of the small window in the door, looking down the corridor. And, sure enough, there were the SAS men – and Ben, of course – down the other end, arguing with each other.

"I'm here!" he called out weakly, but his throat was sore and scratchy, and his voice made no impact. He hissed to himself – he had to get their attention before they gave up looking. He settled for banging his arm on the door, desperately trying to make noise without injuring himself further. He was so weak, and it was incredibly frustrating.

It must have worked, however, as K Unit headed down the corridor towards him, raising their guns.

"Alex!" Ben cried when they got close enough to see him. There was no surprise in his face, but the others displayed suitable expressions of shock. Presumably, they hadn't been told the name of the person they were rescuing – if, in fact, they were here to rescue him at all. It could have been a coincidence.

Ben angled the gun towards the door. "Stand back," he warned, and Alex did so, weakly clutching at the walls. He was feeling faint, the adrenaline that had propelled him to his feet was fading, and he wanted to sit down. _Wait, _he told himself firmly.

Ben shot off the lock and opened the door. The bang of the gun was loud and Alex flinched slightly, hoping none of them noticed. They all seemed too preoccupied with surprise, however.

"What the hell?" Eagle was muttering, his staring undisguised, and Alex would have snapped back a retort if he'd felt up to it.

Both Snake and Ben rushed forward and Alex found himself grateful for Ben's supporting arm.

"Cub?" Wolf asked roughly, still not recovered. "What the hell are you doing here?" Alex wasn't sure if surprise or anger was the main emotion in that question.

He had a greater priority than figuring out Wolf's emotions, though. He had started swaying and found his vision was going white.

"You okay?" Ben asked worriedly, and Alex shook his head slightly, feeling the mistreatment surging up and overpowering the adrenaline. His legs gave way and Ben caught him, his expression very concerned. Snake was hovering above him, and Alex dimly recalled he was the unit's medic. The pain from someone holding his back was making him woozier, where the cuts were pressing into Ben's hands.

"We need to get him out of here," someone said, fairly anxiously, although Alex was too far gone to tell whom. He stared, unseeingly, at the ceiling, feeling blackness whoosh over the top of him. Ben's face began to fade as his eyes started to shut.

"He needs medical help, now!" a voice called, but Alex was already drifting. The last thing he heard was someone swearing, before his mind fell apart, and he let go.

* * *

_A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter and it has persuaded you to read on! This fic is complete (although the first couple of chapters are being rewritten). _

_Please do review still!_

_Dreams_


	2. Confusion

_EDIT (14/12/11): Some grammatical mistakes have been made, and soem parts tweaked. Like chapter one, this will be rewritten at some point . . ._

_DISCLAIMER: Alex Rider bleongs to Anthony Horowitz_

* * *

_Riiiinnnggg. Riiinnnnggg. Riiiinnn-_

"What?" Wolf barked out. It was 8 o'clock in the evening and he was in the middle of his dinner. He wasn't expecting any calls, and the only people who called him anyway were his teammates and his family.

_It__'__s __probably __some __stupid __salesman, _Wolf thought to himself.

"Mr Costello?" a smooth, unruffled voice asked. Wolf cursed silently to himself, realising that it was someone from work and his rudeness was probably not well received.

"Yes?" he asked. He wasn't expecting an assignment for a few weeks.

"Your presence is required at the Royal and General bank, Liverpool Street. You will be expected at 0800 hours tomorrow."

"Right. Sure." Wolf answered. Royal and General . . . Wasn't that Military Intelligence? Was it to do with Fox then? He didn't see what else MI would want with him. He was SAS, and most of his orders went through them.

"Good. You are not to speak of this, understand?" the curt voice informed him.

"Ok," he replied, but the man had already hung up. Strange . . .

* * *

"Umm . . . I was told to come here today?" Wolf said to a stern faced receptionist at the Royal and General.

"Name?" she asked peering at him closely.

"James Costello"

"Right." She gestured to a man standing in a corner. He walked over and smiled at Wolf. "Agent Jackson here will show you up."

"Thanks" Wolf nodded at her and followed the man into a lift. The journey was spent in silence, with Wolf traipsing after the agent in what seemed like a maze of identical corridors. Eventually they stopped outside a nondescript black door.

"Mr Crawley and Mrs Jones are waiting for you inside," he informed the SAS soldier.

Wolf stayed still. Mrs Jones? Wasn't she, like, the deputy head or something? Why the hell did she want to speak to him?

"You're the first of your unit to arrive," Agent Jackson said and opened the door for him. Numbly, Wolf stepped inside. So his unit was coming to? Well, that wasn't completely unexpected, not if it was to do with Fox. Mrs Jones, however, was.

"Good morning," he greeted the MI6 members respectfully.

"Wolf," Mrs Jones said, "take a seat."

He did as she said. "Why am I here?" he asked curiously.

The man, Mr Crawley, spoke up. "All will be explained when the others arrive."

Wolf inclined his head and kept silent.

* * *

5 minutes later, Wolf was fighting the urge to tap his foot. He was insanely bored. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to get there early. Mrs Jones and Mr Crawley were looking through papers on the desk and every so often glancing up at him. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable in the silence.

_Knock, knock_

"Oh thank God," Wolf muttered. _Finally._

"Come in!" Mrs Jones called and, accordingly, the door opened.

"Snake here to see you Ma'am," a man in a black suit informed her.

"Thank you." She nodded at him and he left. Another man stepped fully into the room and greeted the MI6 personnel. The Scottish man then sat in the chair next to Wolf and nodded at him with a faint smile on his face. Wolf returned the gesture. There was silence again.

* * *

When at last Eagle arrived, Wolf was ready to cry in frustration. And he didn't cry often. That was the worst 10 minutes of his life.

"Right then, now we're all here, let's get down to it." Mrs Jones announced. "Mr Crawley, if you would?" She nodded at him.

He inclined his head and stood up, handing each of them a file.

"One of our agents has been kidnapped by Scorpia. You will of course know that Scorpia do not forgive or forget, and it is essential that we get our agent back as soon as possible. He is very important and it would be a huge blow to lose an agent of his calibre."

"May I ask who it is?" Snake inquired.

"His name is Alex Rider. Anything other than that is classified," Mr Crawley declared. "The details of the place he is held are in the file." Seeing Eagle's confused look, he elaborated, "All our agents are fitted with trackers that activate when their heart is under severe stress."

"So he's being tortured then?" Wolf asked bluntly.

"Yes," Mrs Jones said quietly. An unidentifiable emotion flickered through her eyes. "That's why you must act soon."

"You are experienced soldiers and have worked together before. You will lead four other teams into Scorpia's complex and rescue Agent Rider. Is there any questions?" Mr Crawley asked.

"When will we meet the other teams?" Snake questioned seriously. "We'll need time to plan."

"You'll be flown up North nearer the complex and you'll meet the teams then. All clear?" He looked each of them in the eye and they all nodded.

"You'll need to meet back here at 1600 hours. Make sure you've read the file by then." Mrs Jones said, and stood up. They all copied her.

"You may go."

* * *

_Agent Alex Rider was found to be missing from his home on the 20th March after a neighbour reported hearing screaming and seeing a body being dragged off by a few men. When police arrived, the body of Jacqueline Starbright, Agent Rider's legal guardian, was discovered. The cause of death was reported to be a bullet in the head and it was declared that she had been murdered only moments before. It was presumed that that is when Rider was taken and there were signs of a scuffle to back up what the witness claimed. The Agent's tracker was activated on the May 27th and the location was found._

_20__th __March__.__.__._Wolf thought. _Shit. _That was almost two months ago, and he dreaded to think what kind of state the agent would be in after that amount of torture.

_Wait._

Legal guardian? That would mean he was young. Under 18? 16? How old did you have to be to live on your own anyway? It must be eighteen, no under sixteen year old would be allowed to be an agent surely, Wolf thought. But still, under eighteen . . .

_That's crazy_

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he stood up and stretched. He'd been sitting at his desk for hours, just reading and hopefully memorising all the information in the file. He knew perfectly well that every little detail could be important in this kind of job. He would be damned if he messed it up. For the agent and for his unit, he had to succeed. Checking his watch, he saw that he still had several hours before he needed to leave. Sighing slightly, he walked out of his room and into the kitchen. _Time __for __lunch._

* * *

"Damn," Snake swore quietly in a Scottish accent. He sucked on his finger gently before rising to get a plaster. He'd been perusing the file he'd been given earlier when his finger had slipped and been sliced open on the edge of the paper. Being in the SAS, he was well used to pain, but _hell,_paper cuts stung.

He wrapped the plaster around his finger and slumped back heavily on the sofa next to the pile of papers he'd been reading. Like Wolf, he'd noticed the mention of a guardian and was just as worried. He'd joined the SAS to protect innocents like children; he hated the idea of them getting involved in something like this.

_Like Cub_

It couldn't be him though, could it? Why would Cub be involved with terrorists? But then, he was at Brecon Beacons . . . Why would he be sent there unless he would actually need those skills? Unlike Wolf, he'd never truly believed Cub was sent there just because he had a rich father. It didn't fit. Plus, Cub was much better at the exercises than any spoilt rich brat would be. Admittedly, Snake spent most of the time ignoring him, but he didn't agree with the campaign of hatred in which Wolf seemed to partake. Calling him Double 0 Nothing was harsh and unnecessary.

But he'd have to wait and see. He might be getting ahead of himself. It was possible that the agent was someone completely different.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey Matt, it's me!"

Eagle groaned at his sister's voice. Just what he needed . . .

"Lucy! How are you?" he responded.

"I'm doing good actually. Chris has just got a large bonus at work which is great. How about you?"

"Well. But I'm going to be away for a while again so I might not be able to speak with you for a few days." He heard her sigh.

"You're always going away" He could practically imagine her pouting. "Oh well, better make up for it now then."

Eagle lounged back on his armchair and prepared for a _very_long conversation with his sister. Sometimes, she just didn't know when to stop.

An hour later, Eagle finally hung up and, yawning, went to grab a cup of coffee. He caught sight of the file of information on the side and cursed. _Loudly_. He hadn't read through it yet and with his sister's call and the long time it took to go to and from London, he didn't have long to memorise it. _Thank __God __I __have __a __good __memory, _he thought. Being in charge of communications did help that though. You learn pretty quickly when you know that your knowledge could mean the difference between life and death for your team. His mind drifted back to when that situation became all too real . . .

_Don't think about it._

_Don't ever think about it._

* * *

"Can you tell me where I'm supposed to be going? I'm here to meet Mr Madison."

"Name?"

"Ben Daniels"

"To your left."

* * *

_Help me. Please, plea__se help me. I can't take this anymore, I can't-_

_Please._

* * *

"Ah, Agent Daniels." The middle-aged, greying man stood up. "Let's go sit in my office."

"Yes sir."

* * *

_It hurt. God, it hurt so much. The blood was everywhere. Too much. He was drowning in it, dying in it._

_Help. Please._

* * *

"Your unit will be arriving soon. I believe you have already been given your instructions?"

"Yes sir. Get Agent Rider out as soon as possible. Kill anyone in the way."

"Very good."

* * *

_The knife came down again. _

'_Will you help us?' 'Tell us, and it'll all be over.' 'Tell us.' 'Tell us'. 'Tell us.'_

_No. No, no, no, no, no._

_Pain. Blood. Fear._

* * *

"Ben?" Wolf called suddenly. The three of them had arrived minutes ago.

"Wolf!" Ben greeted him happily. "Hey guys."

"What're you doing here?" Wolf asked bluntly. Unless someone knew him well, it wouldn't have been possible to see the glint of warmness in his eye. But Ben had known him for a long time.

"Nice to see you too," he laughed, "I've been asked to help."

"It's great to see you again." Eagle stepped forward and embraced him briefly.

"So, what exactly are we doing here?" Snake asked practically, looking around at the large converted warehouse they were standing in. SAS soldiers were milling around everywhere, chatting and catching up with each other.

"You've been briefed on the plan already, right?" Ben questioned.

"Yeah" Wolf answered, "On the plane here."

"So, now all you've got to do is tell it to them." He grinned, and pointed at the other soldiers.

"Great." Snake sighed.

* * *

_5 minutes_

"I win!" Eagle cried, throwing down his cards.

"Cheat!" Fox declared, "There's no way you could've won otherwise."

Snake sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I did not!" Eagle pouted. "I'm just amazing at this game."

"I'm sorry Eagle, but you're clearly deluded," Wolf stated impatiently, careful to use codenames whilst on a job, "You're bloody awful at cards."

"I am not!"

"Give it up Eagle." Snake butted in. "How much longer have we got before we leave, anyway?"

Fox glanced at his watch. "Four minutes."

* * *

_Four_

"So, little Alex, are you going to tell us?"

Alex looked away.

"Come on, it's not difficult," the man gloated, "One tiny bit of information is all we need."

The spy refused to turn around.

"You have five seconds."

He didn't move.

"No? What a shame."

_Help me, help me, help me, help me. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts . . . _

* * *

_Three_

"How's your wife then Snake? Still working for that company?"

"Yeah," Snake said, "And she still hates it." He grinned.

"Her boss is _fit _though." Eagle murmured.

"Shut up, Eagle!"

* * *

_Two_

He dragged himself over to the wall, his body thoroughly exhausted from even that small movement.

"Why is it always me?" he muttered, "Sometimes I hate my life."

_Help me, help me, help me, help me . . ._

* * *

_One_

Wolf checked his watch and stood up. "Nearly time guys. We need to get ready."

"Right" Snake replied grimly and rose. The rest followed.

_Time to go._

* * *

_ForeverChasingDreams_


	3. Remains

_And here's the next chapter! Much sooner than you all expected, right? I have now hashed out a plan for it so I know exactly where this fic is going, and just to let you all know, this will have a plot! (unlike my Harry Potter one D:) I was technically supposed to be working all day . . . Instead, I got no work done at all and wrote this :D  
Just to let you know, I have no medical background. I hope most of this is accurate, but if not, please tell me. I have done research, but you can't always trust the internet *sigh*_

_Thanks to all reviewers and readers._

_Just a word of warning - this chapter does have swearing in it. If you're reading a T, you hopefully won't have an issue with it, but I apologise if it offends you. I honestly believe that soldiers will swear and it's not very accurate otherwise, is it?_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider. Everything belongs to Anthony Horowitz._

* * *

_'Just remember - when you think all is lost, the future remains.'  
(Bob Goddard)_

Wolf hurried along the long corridors of St Dominic's with the rest of K-Unit following him silently. It had been only two hours since Cub had been rescued _("Where is he? God, how the hell are we going to find him?")_ and Cub was still in surgery. The shock Wolf had felt when he realised who the agent was had been overwhelming; only Fox hadn't seemed surprised, just worried. Wolf wondered whether they had met again.

"How long is he likely to be in surgery for?" Eagle asked quietly.

"With those injuries?" Snake replied, his voice rough, "Quite a while. They'll need to stitch everything up and maybe do some reconstructive surgery on the wounds."

"So how long?" Eagle demanded harshly.

"I don't know! I'm a field medic, not a doctor!" Snake said hotly.

"Chill it, guys," Wolf snapped, "We've just got to go and wait it out in his room."

Sorry Snake," Eagle said softly. "It's just- Seeing him there . . . It just brought back everything, you know?"

"Yeah," the Scottish man replied, "I know."

* * *

_Wolf checked round the corner, gun out and ready, before rushing down the next identical corridor. K-Unit, including Fox, followed suit, grim and silent. Only Wolf noticed the slight look of panic on Fox's face and wondered exactly what was going on. The spy had changed since he left and Wolf felt he hardly knew him anymore._

_They strode down the corridor checking each door for enemies or prisoners, but found none. By now, they were all getting impatient. Every floor of the compound had been searched and declared clear, with no prisoners being found. _

"_I don't think there's anyone down here." Eagle said at last. The signals expert was pale and probably not ready for such an assignment so soon. He had been the worst affected and Wolf was worried. _

"_I don't know where else he would be," Wolf answered, "MI6 told us that their agent would be in this building. We've looked everywhere. There's only here left."_

"_Let's just keep looking" Fox said sensibly. _

"_This is a waste of time," Eagle mumbled._

"_Look, Eagle, unless you've got any better ideas, we've just got to-"_

"_Shh!" Fox said suddenly, "Do you hear that?" _

_They all listened carefully. Sure enough, a low, quiet, knocking sound was heard. __Aiming his gun at the area where the noise was coming from, Wolf led them to the cell._

_The sight there shocked them into silence. All apart from Fox, anyway._

"_Alex!" he cried suddenly. Wolf's face crinkled in confusion. Alex? "Wait a second!"_

_Before Wolf could even speak, Fox had ordered Cub to step away and had shot the lock off the door. What in hell was Cub doing there? What exactly was MI6 doing to this kid? As much as he had resented him at Brecon Beacons, he wouldn't wish this on anyone. The kid was covered in blood. His arm was hanging at the wrong angle, obviously broken. A deep gash in his leg dripped blood and it looked difficult for him to stand. The boy was waxen and his eyes sunken. There was no light in them, and he either couldn't, or wouldn't, speak._

_Jesus._

"_What the hell?" He heard Eagle mutter. He wished he knew what was going through the man's head, but his face was unnervingly blank. Wolf studied Cub again, worried by his unsteadiness. He stepped forward to take control again, but Snake rushed past him. _

"_Cub?" Wolf questioned, still in shock. "What the hell are you doing here?" Ok, so maybe not the best thing to ask in the circumstances, but Wolf was now growing quite annoyed. Why didn't MI6 ever tell them anything? And how in hell did they justify this?_

_Cub swayed and Wolf once again made to step forward. It was obvious that the kid needed some serious help. However, before he could move, Cub fell, his face twisted in an expression of pain. Fox caught him just in time and the kid's eyes fluttered shut slightly. His face paled even more, if possible, and Wolf knew he had to get to a hospital._

"_You ok?" He heard Fox ask worriedly. Ignoring the stupid question, Wolf spoke up._

"_We need to get him out of here!"_

_Cub collapsed fully in Fox's arms and his eyes completely closed. Wolf didn't know whether to feel relieved that at least the kid wasn't experiencing so much pain, or worried that he was growing worse._

"_He needs medical attention, now!" Snake declared. "There's nothing I can do for him here."_

"_Eagle, contact the other units. We've got the agent, now we need to get out. And also, try and get through to the helicopter waiting for us. The doctors on board need to know his condition." Wolf ordered immediately._

_Eagle nodded, and began. Fox picked Cub up gently and they started the journey out of the building. Wolf and Snake walked in front, guns out and ready to shoot. _

_You can never be too careful._

* * *

Wolf and Eagle were slumped in what was soon to be Cub's hospital room. Snake was guarding the door. The spy himself had yet to turn up.

"How much longer?" Eagle moaned quietly.

"You have no patience," Wolf smirked, "Just grin and bear it."

"I was never very good at waiting," he mused.

"I have no idea how you ever managed to get into the SAS, Eagle!" Snake called from outside the door.

_("It's beyond me how the two of you ever managed to pass selection," Wolf snapped at the two soldiers._

"_Hey!" one cried._

"_Don't worry Eagle, we can be the two fails together," the other said, laughing.)_

Eagle's face had paled, and Wolf wondered if he was remembering the same thing.

"Hey," Wolf said softly, and touched the man's arm lightly, "You ok?"

"Yeah," he said, "I'm fine."

Wolf just looked at him. "Of course you are. Just like I am."

Eagle attempted to smile, and Wolf changed the subject.

"I wonder when Fox is going to turn up, anyway."

"Dunno. He's taking a long time."

"It's weird," Snake said, "What could MI6 possibly be talking to him about for that long? They've already got our accounts of what happened."

"Well, I hope he turns up soon." Wolf replied. "I want to know how he knows Cub so well."

"Yeah, that was weird," Snake mused, "He's never mentioned it to us before."

"Then again, we haven't exactly seen him, have we?" Eagle joined in.

"Well, I just want him to hurry up."

"You know, Wolf, you're not the most patient person either." Snake grinned.

"Ha, ha"

* * *

"Mrs Jones, I hope you realise how serious this is."

"Of course I do Doctor," she replied softly, "I never take the welfare of one of ours lightly."

"Well, good, because Alex has been hurt badly. He's made it through surgery, thank God, but-"

"He wasn't going to make it through?" Wolf jumped in.

"Mr Costello, if you could please keep quiet," Mrs Jones ordered. "You're only allowed in this room for security purposes."

"Mr. . . Costello, was it?" Wolf nodded. "With those injuries and such a low body weight, the surgery can be too much for some patients. We are lucky that Alex is strong."

"Jesus," Wolf muttered.

"The knife wound in his thigh will cause him a bit of trouble, we think," the doctor carried on, "It was very deep and cut through muscle at some points. He will need PT for a while." He took a breath. "The lacerations on his back, as well-"

"What lacerations?" Wolf asked immediately.

"Mr Costello!"

"He was whipped quite severely we believe, as well as a few knife wounds."

"Shit."

"Mr Costello, if you make one more noise I _will _have you removed from the room." Mrs Jones declared in annoyance. Eagle smirked at Wolf slightly.

"I apologise, Ma'am," he said quietly.

"As I was saying," the doctor continued, "the lacerations were becoming infected and although we will give him antibiotics for it, they will need to be watched carefully, especially as he won't be able to see them. They may cause him some trouble at first and will be painful, but as long as he rests properly and doesn't overdo it, they will heal alright."

"And the arm?" Mrs Jones asked.

"It's been set and placed in a sling. It was a bad break, but should heal well enough. The wound on his cheek has been stitched as well and won't cause any problems. However, we can't guarantee that it won't scar."

"But he will heal fine?"

"Yes, he will, thank the Lord. Given time, he will physically be as good as new. But mentally . . ."

"I understand. Thank you Doctor."

"I hope he doesn't land himself back in here too many more times," the doctor sighed, "it's not right."

"Yes well, sometimes it can't be helped," she replied. The doctor frowned, but left the room.

"I will return later when he wakes up," Mrs Jones informed the two SAS soldiers in the room, "You will tell the doctor as soon as he stirs, clear?"

"Yes Ma'am" Wolf answered.

"Good" She left the room, giving the pale boy in the bed one last look. Something flickered in her eyes and Wolf wondered if it was crazy to think it may have been grief.

* * *

Alex stirred slightly, disturbed by the voices echoing around the room.

"Heartless bitch"

"Eagle!"

"What? She is!"

"She's not that unemotional."

"Still a bitch."

Alex could feel a throbbing pain in his thigh and groaned. Or tried to, anyway. His throat felt like it was on fire and he couldn't swallow without wincing.

"Shit, wait! I think he's waking up!" someone cried, "Cub?"

He struggled to open his eyes.

"Cub?" someone asked again, "You awake?"

"I'm going to get the doctor," another voice said quickly.

_("There's no doctor to help you here, Rider")_

His eyelids at last seemed to obey him and he slowly opened his eyes, squinting. He immediately slammed them shut again when bright light shone in his face.

"Eagle! Close the God-damned curtains!"

A few seconds later, "They're closed!"

"Hey Cub? The light's gone now, you can open your eyes again."

Carefully and slowly he tried again and found that this time, the light wasn't nearly as bad. He looked around the room and took in the three SAS-men looking worriedly at him.

"How do you feel?" Snake asked softly.

He said nothing.

Another figure rushed into the room. "Right, everybody out. I need to examine my patient."

"Sorry Doctor, we've got orders not to leave him alone in here," Wolf replied.

"Fine, one can stay."

Without any discussion, Snake and Eagle left the room. Alex wondered if they had some sort of weird telepathic link.

"Right then," the doctor said, "I imagine you're in a bit of pain?" A few seconds pause. "Don't answer that, actually. I need to examine your throat. Just nod if it's sore."

Alex nodded slowly. Wolf's expression turned to comprehension, but he said nothing.

"Ok, well, you're on quite strong painkillers at the moment, but we were told to give you nothing more in case you got addicted. Your throat's swollen up so I don't think you'll be able to speak for a while," he said while gently probing Alex's neck.

"How long will that be?" Wolf asked.

"Days at least. I can't say for sure. But you'll be in bed for at least a week anyway so it makes no difference." At Alex's look of annoyance, he laughed. "Trust me, you wouldn't want to walk with those injuries anyway."

"I suggest you go back to sleep for a while. Your Mrs Jones told me she would be coming back soon to talk to you, and I imagine you'll want to be fully aware for that." The young doctor looked at him sadly. "The drug you're on will be making you sleepy, so don't fight it. You just need to rest."

Alex nodded at him and the doctor left.

"Cub," Wolf began, "We just wanted to tell you that-"

But Alex just closed his eyes, and pretended to go to sleep. He had no desire to talk. Wolf gave up.

* * *

"Alex," Mrs Jones said loudly, "I know you're awake." The boy grimaced and opened his eyes grudgingly. She wasn't a member of MI6 for nothing.

"I know you can't talk, and probably have no desire to even see me anyway, so I will be brief. Firstly, I would like to apologise for what happened with Miss Starbright."

_("Noo . . . Jack . . . Please, no . . .")_

Alex shut his eyes again.

"We clearly underestimated Scorpia's desire to get revenge and we didn't predict the events that happened within Scorpia-" Alex opened his eyes and cocked his head in curiosity. "When you are out of hospital, we would like for you to come to the bank where we will explain it to you. It's not safe here."

Alex nodded in acceptance.

"Secondly, I came to tell you about your living arrangements when you leave St. Dominic's. Agent Daniels has volunteered to look after you and we decided it was satisfactory. He is currently filling out paperwork to make it seem legal and will be along to explain it to you further." Mrs Jones chanced a look at Alex. His face was blank and his eyes half shut again. "K-Unit has also been assigned to guard you. They will be remaining at the hospital with you and will probably move into Daniel's house. There will also be one soldier with you at all times."

Alex looked over at Wolf sitting in the corner of the room. The man nodded at him and even smiled a small bit. Things had changed since Brecon Beacons . . .

"And Alex? I _am _sorry. We are doing everything we can to stop them getting to you again." Mrs Jones swept from the room. This time, she didn't look back.

Wolf glanced at Cub's face. His expression was, for once, easy to read.

_Too little, too late._

* * *

_And there you go. Any reviews given are appreciated._

_ForeverChasingDreams_


	4. Breakage

_Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any other characters._

* * *

_'What happens when you lose everything?  
__You just start again.  
__You start all over again.'  
(lyrics by Maximo Park)_

"Finally, Ben. Where the hell have you been?" Wolf growled at the spy as he arrived at the hospital room. Ben's face was tired and sad and he only shook his head at the annoyed soldier.

"Leave it Wolf," Snake said softly, "He's awake by the way."

Ben nodded at him and walked into the room. The two soldiers were left to stare at the door as it shut behind him.

"Weird," Wolf commented.

"He obviously knows Cub well," Snake shrugged, "he probably hated having to wait for such a long time until he could see him."

Wolf inclined his head in agreement but thought privately that the young spy in the room they were guarding probably hated it more.

* * *

"Alex?" Ben's voice asked softly. Alex didn't open his eyes. He had no desire to face the world, and especially someone who would want to talk about his time with Scorpia.

"Look Alex, I know you're awake," Ben said again, "Please open your eyes."

Alex didn't.

"Fine, then just listen to me," he said, "I'm sorry about not seeing you earlier. I've been at the bank sorting out all the legal paperwork." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sure Mrs Jones told you that I'm going to be your guardian. I- I volunteered for the job." Ben glanced briefly round the room before focusing back on the young spy.

"I was told how you had no one to look after you, not after your last guardian . . . Well, anyway, I offered to help. It's not right what happened to you, and I will do anything to stop it occurring again. I'm a qualified spy - much like you," Ben added resignedly, "And I can help to protect you, like K-Unit are." He took a deep breath. "And also . . . I care about you. I don't want you left with a stupid MI6 agent who has no idea who you are or anything about you."

Alex's expression was blank, and his eyes still closed. Ben took another breath and continued.

"So yeah, you'll be seeing a lot more of me. I'll be around most of the time and then in a week or so when you're discharged, you can home with me to my flat. I live in the centre of London but you should be able to continue going to the same school if you like – when you're well enough anyway. K-Unit will be around the whole time, though I think they'll take turns staying the night. MI6 are taking no chances with your safety." _Not this time, anyway._

"So, it's probably a good idea if I tell you a bit more about me, right?" No answer. "I was born around here and have lived in pretty much the same area my whole life. I have a younger brother," A grimace crossed the man's face, "but we don't get on that well. My mum died when I was tiny, but my dad lives nearby. He's a bit . . . Well, antisocial, I guess you could say, but he'll like you. I haven't told him yet, but you might want to expect a visit at some point." A tiny flicker of emotion crossed Alex's face, too fast for it to be identified. "I studied French and politics at university and then went straight to join the army. I then applied for the SAS and got in – as you know – but didn't enjoy it that much. The brute fighting wasn't really for me. So yeah, I applied for a job with MI6. As much as I hate MI6 for what they did for you, I prefer it to working in the SAS. K-Unit weren't so happy about that though."

By now, ten minutes had passed and Alex still hadn't opened his eyes.

"Alex, are you going to ignore me forever?" Ben asked quietly. "Come on, you've got to face the world at some point." There was no answer. Ben sighed, and sat down with a newspaper. He wouldn't leave.

* * *

It was a week after the rescue that Alex's emotionless mask broke. It wasn't dramatic, or loud, or even particularly violent, but it was something. To be honest, it surprised the hell out of Eagle.

The twitches started at some point after midnight. It was Eagle's turn to be on duty overnight, and he was getting tired. Snake would be coming to relieve him in five hours. At first, he hardly noticed them. Hospitals didn't stop at night, and nurses were bustling up and down the corridors outside, meaning that Eagle's attention was constantly being caught by something outside the room. It was only when the movement got more violent that he did.

Eagle swore when he saw Cub out of the corner of his eye. The young spy was shaking and tremors were passing through his body. Sweat was dripping down him and his head was turning continuously back and forth. It was obvious he was caught in a nightmare of some kind.

"Cub!" Eagle said reaching out to touch him. He gently laid a hand on the boy's arm hoping to reassure him, but it only seemed to panic him further. Small whimpering noises were coming out of his throat. Knowing how painful it was going to be when he woke up, Eagle tried to get him to calm down.

"Cub? Cub, come on, you're safe," he tried, "Nothing's hurting you, it's fine, I promise. Listen to my voice, it's Eagle, ok? No one else." The heartbreaking view continued. "Come on kid, it's ok. I promise you, please calm down."

Nothing seemed to help. Cub kept on thrashing and turning, upsetting tubes and disturbing the cast on his arm. Tears were now leaking out of the corners of his eyes and Eagle grew more and more desperate.

"Come on kid, come on. It's safe, I promise. It's safe. No one's hurting you, come on."

After a few more minutes with nothing changing, the soldier tried something more drastic. He gently shook the boy's good shoulder, calling his name the whole time.

"Cub? Cub? Come on, wake up!" He shook him harder. "Cub!" After a particularly harsh shake, Alex awoke with a gasp. Flinging himself across the bed and away from the grabbing hands, he concentrated on steadying his breathing. Tears were still trickling down his face and he wiped angrily at them. Eagle was staring at him in concern.

"Cub? You ok? You're safe here; nothing's going to hurt you."

Alex shook his head in frustration. Of course something was going to hurt him. Something always did. His sobs became more violent, shaking his frame and alarming the soldier.

_("Help me, help me, help me")_

"Cub? I promise you, nothing's going to hurt you. Not while I'm here," the soldier reassured him.

_("Just tell us Rider. It'll all be over if you just tell us.")_

"Cub, I'll have to get the doctor if you don't calm down. You're hurting yourself."

_("By the time we've finished, you'll do anything just to stop it all. Even kill yourself.")_

"Cub, come on. Please, calm down."

_("I won't, I won't, I won't.")_

Alex finally nodded unsteadily and took deep breaths. It took a few minutes but eventually his breathing calmed. It had been a while since he'd had a nightmare that bad, but he guessed it probably wasn't unexpected. The strong drugs he was on had been keeping them at bay, but with the possibility of being discharged in a few days, the doctor was weaning him off them.

"You ok?" Eagle asked him quietly. He nodded and pulled the blanket over him again.

"Cub, come on, you're still crying," the soldier told him, "You're obviously not ok."

Alex ignored him and shut his eyes. He jerked suddenly when a calloused hand rested on his arm.

"Please Cub, stop shutting us out," he pleaded. Alex did nothing. "We're all worried about you."

Alex didn't open his eyes or turn his head. He simply raised a hand and lifted his middle finger. Eagle sighed.

"Fine."

* * *

Ben cursed under his breath as he left the hospital room a couple of days after. Alex was just . . . blank. He didn't want to do anything.

"How is he?" Wolf asked quietly.

"Asleep," Ben said, "Well, I think he is, anyway. He might just be ignoring me."

"Is he still not responding?" Snake questioned.

"No," Ben sighed, "He's just lying there, with his eyes shut. It- It worries me. It's been over a week. The doctor says that he should be able to talk soon. He may already by able to."

"He just won't." Eagle finished.

"Yeah"

"He's been through a lot though," Snake said.

"I know," Ben answered, "But he can't carry on like this."

"Have you considered the idea of him having PTSD?" Eagle asked.

"Of course I have." Ben shut his eyes briefly. "With an experience like that, how can he not have it? I just don't know what to do about it."

"He's still having nightmares," Eagle informed him, "I've had to wake him up several times."

"Same here," Snake confirmed.

"Bad ones?"

"Pretty bad, I'd say," Eagle replied with a hint of sarcasm, "It's been difficult to wake him up. The nurses constantly worry he'll damage himself further with the way he thrashes around."

"God," Wolf sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"He needs a psychiatrist or something," Ben said, "But I'll need to contact MI6 about it. He'll need someone with high enough clearance."

"Well, he's being released later tomorrow. You might want to go soon. It's going to be pretty hard on him."

"I know Snake," Ben said, "I'll go this afternoon."

"Want me to come with you?" Wolf asked.

Ben nodded. "Thanks."

* * *

Alex lay with his eyes shut, listening to the conversation outside. He knew he wasn't being fair on them – how could he not? Still, he didn't appreciate being talked about behind his back. And he wasn't exactly _ignoring _Ben, just, well, not looking at him. And not talking to him. And ok, not responding in any way to him. So yeah, he admitted to himself, ignoring is a reasonable description.

But he did have a reason. His throat still felt like a million knives were stabbing into it every time he tried to talk, especially with his painkillers reduced. The doctor simply told him to keep trying, and that the pain would wear off. Helpful. He knew that with the possibility of being released looming ever closer, he would need to at least make an effort with K-Unit, but _God, _it hurt. Every little thing reminded him of Jack. Every word made him flashback to Scorpia. And that made it hard to keep up a conversation.

_("There'll be no conversation in here, Rider")_

He wished he knew what had prompted Scorpia to kidnap him. MI6 had assured him that a deal had been made and he would be left alone – which obviously didn't happen. He was curious as to what Mrs Jones would tell him when he was finally released from hospital, and if the doctors didn't allow that soon, he was definitely breaking out. The deputy head hadn't visited him again and Alex guessed he was grateful for that, no matter how curious he was. His only company was K-Unit and he found himself missing Jack more and more. The soldiers tried hard to make him feel comfortable, and Ben was great, but looking after a teenager wasn't something any of them were used to. There was a reason they joined the SAS, after all.

Jack was just . . . special. While other people would find it difficult to converse with an emotionally damaged and dangerous fifteen year old, Jack did not. She used to bring him food every time he ended up in hospital. "If the food here is anything like what it is in American hospitals, you'll be needing this," she used to say with a laugh. She was vibrant and bright and successfully scared off many a doctor when she was talking to him and didn't want to be disturbed.

"_I brought some doughnuts," Jack said when she visited Alex one time after the fateful events in Kenya. "I know you're supposed to get grapes and everything, but honestly, I prefer these." She grinned and passed him one._

_Climbing up onto his bed, carefully avoiding the tubes twisting about his body, she kissed him on the forehead and sat crossed-legged on the end of the bed._

"_Mrs Mason says hello by the way," she remarked casually. "I told her you had glandular fever." She paused. "Or was it swine flu? Hmmm . . ." Alex laughed at her. "Pfft, she won't remember anyway," Jack said, shrugging her shoulders. "Did I tell you about the plumber coming round-"_

"_The same one that comes round every month?" Alex cut in._

"_Yeah, that one," Jack continued. "Anyway, she stood in her doorway in her dressing gown – that bright pink one that she wears every morning – and refused to let him in." Alex snorted._

"_Yeah, exactly. I heard loud voices so thought I ought to check it out and when I went round the poor man was trying to convince her to let him in. I asked what the matter was and she haughtily informed me that she was 'not letting a strange man in her house' when for all she knew, he could be a 'mass murderer'". Jack's impression of Mrs Mason's elderly voice was slightly ruined by the giggles that kept erupting from her mouth, Alex thought privately. _

"_What did you do?"_

"_Laughed."_

_Alex reached across and swatted her gently on the arm. "No, seriously, what happened?" he asked, amused._

"_I finally got her to let the man in, but only if I stood next to him the whole time and left the front door open so people would hear if either of us screamed."_

"_Wouldn't she just get burgled?" Alex said immediately, unable to keep a straight face any longer._

"_Don't ask me! The woman's completely illogical!"_

_Alex laughed._

Ignoring the prickling of his eyes that occurred whenever he thought about Jack, Alex wondered if he would ever be as comfortable around Ben as he had been with Jack. He had more of a chance with Ben than he did with K-Unit though, he thought with a sigh.

"Oh, hey Cub," Snake said. "I didn't realise you were up."

The first thing, Alex mused, would be to get them to use his actual name.

* * *

_Sorry for the late update, I hope you enjoy this. I understand the plot is moving slowly at the moment, but I just want to concentrate on Alex's recovery at this time._

_Please review,_

_ForeverChasingDreams_


	5. Revelations

_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz, not me._

_Sorry for the long wait, I hope it's worth it! Thanks to those who reviewed the previous chapter :D_

* * *

_'Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you'_

_(Maori proverb)_

St Dominic's was a hospital for the wealthy and had been for several years, and as such the doctors and nurses were never as overloaded with patients as they would be in a NHS hospital. Dr Foster, recalling with horror his time at a local London hospital, was grateful for this. Working at St Dominic's meant he had more time to spend with his budding family, and after the fiasco last year when his wife, Katie, had screamed at him for never being home and had left for two days, this was something he could now never underestimate. However, he still had too many patients at the moment for his liking, and he was greatly relieved to be getting rid of one.

The boy on the second floor was the oddest teenager he'd ever had – although admittedly you didn't get many of them in this expensive hospital. The teen was quiet, watchful and displayed none of the exuberance Dr Foster had come to expect from fifteen year old boys. In a way, he was sad to see him go; it was obvious the kid was mixed up in some pretty deep shit. How many kids had bullet wounds and armed soldiers placed constantly inside his room? At least the kid was relatively safe whilst in hospital.

"Alex," he greeted the boy when he arrived at the room. "How are you feeling?"

Alex shrugged. Dr Foster scowled, but then sighed, having had to deal with the nonchalant behaviour when it came to his health since the boy came to the hospital.

"A verbal answer would be nice," he said sarcastically, but with an undertone of amusement.

"I'm ok," Alex said, his voice hoarse and obviously painful.

"Any pain?"

"Some," came the short reply. Dr Foster could almost hear the unspoken words, 'what do you think?'.

"I've prescribed some strong painkillers for you to take at home if the pain becomes too much. I know we've been told to wean you off them, but with injuries like yours . . ."

"Is he ok to be taken home?" A voice asked from the corner of the room, startling the young doctor.

"Wolf, right?" he asked the man, and continued when he nodded. "Alex should be fine, but he needs to rest and take it easy for a few weeks. And I mean that literally," he said, turning to face the teenager again and levelling him with a stern glare. "No walking around too much, just lying on the sofa watching TV or whatever it is boys your age do."

Alex smirked, and nodded his head.

"I'll make sure he does, Doctor," Wolf assured him.

Dr Foster frowned thoughtfully. "You're staying with him still, then?"

"Yeah, though only Fox is adopting him," the soldier said. "That's Ben, by the way," he clarified, when Dr Foster's face became confused.

"Right," he said. "As long as Alex gets lots of rest and doesn't strain his injuries, they should heal fine. I've set up dates with Ben for physiotherapy and check-ups, so that I can keep an eye on him. But other than that, you shouldn't have any problems."

"Good"

"When Ben arrives, you can take him home."

* * *

Ben hurried through the hospital, knowing the way to Alex's room off by heart thanks to the many visits he'd been making recently. He nodded to the receptionist but didn't say hello; his mind was stuck on one thing and one thing only – Alex was being discharged.

He didn't pretend to understand how hard it was for the tortured young spy, but he hoped to be able to help him, if only a small bit.

"Ben," Wolf greeted him.

"Hey," he said briefly, then gestured inside Alex's room. "He awake?"

"Nah, not anymore," Wolf replied. "That's why I'm out here. It's a bit freaky sitting watching him sleep if you ask me. Talking to the doctor tired him out, I reckon."

"Damn," Ben muttered. "We're going to have to get him up, I think, or else he'll sleep the whole day and won't be able to leave until tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Wolf agreed.

"Where are the others, anyway?" Ben asked, walking inside the room.

"They stayed at home today, didn't want to freak Cub out too much. We thought it would be a bit overwhelming for him to have all of us there when he first gets to yours."

"Good idea," Ben said.

"I'll get Doctor Foster," Wolf said, unusually helpful.

"Thanks," Ben said absentmindedly. "I'm going to wake him up."

* * *

Alex was vaguely aware of someone calling his name, the sound piercing through the fog surrounding his brain. He stirred slightly, wincing at the ever-present pain that seemed to circulate around his body. He had slept fairly peacefully for once, with no nightmares he could remember. He slowly opened his eyes, allowing the soft light to filter through his eyelids and he basked in the glow. After months spent indoors with no windows, he would never again take the warm sun for granted.

"Alex?" he could hear being said from somewhere above him. When his eyes were fully open, he recognized Ben's concerned face, having flinched only a small amount at the sight – an instinctive reaction to people bending over him that he had yet to rid himself of.

"Ben," he rasped out in greeting.

"Sorry to wake you, Alex," he said gently, "but I thought you'd prefer to be woken and go home today rather than tomorrow."

Alex nodded in agreement, and shifted his weight so that he was sitting upright, wincing only slightly at the pain. Ben had reached out to help, but found he was too late; the young spy was already up.

"I think the hospital is providing you with a wheelchair to use to get to my car so that you don't stretch the wounds on your back," Ben told him.

_(blood everywhere, pain, pain, pain, "don't scream now, Rider", gloating, crimson)_

Alex nodded.

"Now that Ben has arrived, Alex, you can be going home," Dr Foster's cheery voice announced from the door. Ben grabbed the wheelchair next to the man and held it out to Alex. The spy, dressed in stripy blue pyjamas as seemed to be the custom everywhere, slowly slipped off the bed and onto the chair. He held his back ramrod straight to avoid touching the back of it and stared out the window. _Finally, _he thought to himself. _I__'__m __actually __getting __out __of __here._

Wolf appeared behind the doctor, his usual sour expression firmly in place. "Are we going?" he asked shortly.

Ben glanced at Alex. "You ready?"

"Yeah," he murmured quietly. Ben stepped behind him, hands on his wheelchair. Alex tried to stop his back from stiffening, but failed. He knew from Ben's sigh that he had noticed. He bowed his shaven head, and said nothing as they left the room.

"Bring him back if anything gets worse," Alex heard the doctor say to Wolf. The soldier nodded sharply, and muttered his understanding.

"Will it?" Ben asked suddenly. The doctor looked at him in confusion. Ben elaborated, "Is it likely that something will get worse?"

"Hopefully not," Dr Foster answered, "but with wounds like his nothing's ever guaranteed."

"Ok," Ben sighed.

Alex was still staring at the floor, unwilling to join in the conversation and reluctant to look into the passing rooms. He had no desire to see more ill people, alone and suffering in their sickness, their breath blowing in and out routinely, desolate in their loneliness. However, unbidden, his gaze was drawn upwards by the sound of laughter coming from a nearby room. He caught a glance of an old man lying in the bed, propped up by pillows and tubes lacing around his body. A young girl and two adults were sitting next to him, one woman sitting cross-legged on the bed. All were laughing. Alex shut his eyes tightly, attempting to block out the sight. _All __sick __people __are __lonely, _he tried to tell himself, _all __of __them. __It__'__s __not __just __you. _But somehow, the sight of that family, with the woman sitting so like Jack-

_("-Tom was round the other day-")_

_(-shining red hair, falling gently around her laughing face-)_

-made him face the fact that he was alone because he had no one, and everyone else had somebody.

"Alex?" Ben asked.

"Hm?"

"You alright?"

"Fine," he muttered quietly, tearing his gaze away from the rooms filing past and looking at the floor again. He flinched when Ben placed his hand on his shoulder, but felt strangely sad when the hand was immediately removed. _Stop __it,_he told himself firmly. _You. __Are. __Alone. __Face __it._

Alex jolted out of his thoughts when he heard the ping of the lift. He hadn't even noticed they'd reached the end of the corridor, but now he could feel his heartbeat quicken.

"No." he snapped suddenly at Ben. "I am _not _taking the lift."

"Alex?" Ben's face twisted in confusion. "Why?"

Wolf gazed at him with what looked like understanding on his face. His normal expression had softened.

"I'm not," Alex said again.

Wolf laid a hand on Ben's arm. "Let him take the stairs," he said.

"He's in a bloody _wheelchair_, in case you hadn't noticed, Wolf," Ben bit out, looking at Dr Foster for support. The man simply shrugged, out of his depth.

"He won't take the lift," Wolf said in a harsh whisper. "You can't force him, he'll freak out."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Ben replied, also whispering. "We can't exactly wheel him down the stairs."

Wolf turned to look at him. Alex stared at the floor. He had no idea what Wolf had seen in him, but the man soon turned back to Ben.

"I'll carry him," he answered firmly. Alex's head snapped up; he hadn't expected Wolf to do _that_.

"All the way down?" Ben asked, sounding sceptical. Alex didn't blame him; it would be quite a long way.

"Yes," the SAS soldier replied. "He hardly weighs anything now, anyway."

Alex fiddled with the sides of the wheelchair, wanting to dispute the statement but knowing that it was sadly true. Malnourishment was a bitch.

"It's true," Dr Foster chipped in. He had his arms folded and his expression was of polite interest. It made no difference to him how they got downstairs. "Alex weighs starkly little compared to normal boys his age." He added another sentence, directing his words at Ben, "something that will need to be addressed when he gets home."

"See?" Wolf said, ignoring the doctor's last few words. "It'll be fine."

Ben frowned. "Fine," he agreed. "I'll carry the wheelchair down."

They walked over to the stairs, Ben still pushing Alex. Wolf leaned down; an apology in his eyes for the indignity Alex was bound to suffer. He picked the spy up, taking care not to jostle any of his injuries.

Alex closed his eyes, humiliated that he was being carried like a child. Still, it was better than going in the lift. He had sworn to himself, as soon as he woke up in the hospital, that he would never be trapped again. The lift was far too enclosed for his fragile psyche to handle, and he was glad to have been spared the panic attack that he knew would be imminent if they had taken the lift.

Luckily, the indignity didn't last long, and soon Alex was lowered back into the wheelchair, only slightly sorer than he had been when he was picked up. The soldier had gone to great pains to avoid aggravating his damaged body. Alex blinked happily when they finally got outside, after Ben had signed whatever forms he needed to with Dr Foster. It had been too long since Alex had seen the sunlight properly. It wasn't the same looking through the window; you never got the warmth of the light seeping into your body, or the pleasure of knowing that the light circling around you came directly from the sun. He shut his eyes, raising his head to the sky and simply revelled in it. He could see Ben smiling slightly when he opened his eyes again, and smiled back at him. The surprise in the older spy's face was worth it. It was rare for Alex to smile.

"This is my car," Ben said a short while later, when they stopped by a blue Honda. He pushed Alex to the side of the car and opened one of the back doors.

"How are we going to do this?" he mused to himself. Alex solved the problem by pushing himself up on wobbly feet, biting his lip when a fierce pain seared through his body when he put weight on his wounded leg. He stepped carefully into the car, Ben's arm supporting him as he flopped on the seat.

"Well done," said the older spy quietly. Alex inclined his head, frustrated that the small movement could cost so much in terms of effort. Ben got into the front seat, gesturing for Wolf to do the same. Instead, the soldier climbed into the back, seating himself next to Alex. Alex said nothing but appreciated the thought. It was nice not to be alone in the back, feeling like a child while the 'grown-ups' sat in the front.

"Bye," called Dr Foster, smiling slightly and waving. Alex said goodbye in return, thanking him profusely for all he had done. He knew how injured he had been when he arrived at the hospital. He owed his life to the doctor.

Ben pulled out of the hospital car park and Alex turned back to look at the fading hospital. It had been his home for the past few days, and many before that time. He was sad to see it go, but doubted it would be the last time he saw the old building. He closed his eyes, imprinting the image of the white hospital into his memory. Then he twisted in his seat, turning to gaze out of his window. He didn't look back again.

* * *

"I was planning on stopping by the house before we went to the bank," Ben said after a few minutes of silence, "but I don't think we'll have time now."

Alex carried on gazing out of the window.

"Alex?" Ben said sharply, trying to get his attention.

"Hmm?"

"I said, we'll have to go straight to the bank," Ben repeated, exasperated at the spy but understanding his distance. Alex looked so young with his shaved head and striped pyjamas and his arm still in a sling, and Ben wanted to rage and scream at the world that had damaged him so badly at so young an age. He frowned momentarily.

"Did you bring some spare clothes?" he asked Wolf, having realised that Alex could hardly walk into MI6 with pyjamas on.

"Yeah," the soldier replied. "They're in the boot."

"We'll have to stop at a petrol station or something then," Ben mused, "so that you can get changed, Alex."

Alex nodded, seemingly uninterested.

* * *

Fifteen minutes and a short stop later, they arrived at the Royal and General Bank on Liverpool Street. The old building fitted almost unnoticeably into the rest of the street, as unsuspecting passers-by strolled down the road, never even considering the possibility that there might be something strange about that one bank. Alex waited until Ben had opened his car door before attempting to climb out, accepting Ben's helpful outstretched hand. He limped out of the car, drawing stares with his shaved head and scarred cheek. Ben wrapped an arm around him to steady him as Wolf locked the car. They hobbled together into the bank, Alex's gaze unnervingly blank. The receptionist had obviously been told to expect them as she immediately gestured someone over.

"Agent Rider?" the man asked, face unreadable.

"That's me," confirmed Alex as he shook off Ben's arm. Both men stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. They weren't sure they liked the sudden change in Alex's demeanour. He had gone from an injured, haunted, teenager to a confident young man who knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it.

"Follow me," the unfamiliar man said, gesturing towards the lift. Alex shook his head.

"You must be a poor spy," he said in a low voice, "if you believe that I will get into an enclosed lift with a man I do not know. Where are the stairs?"

Ben and Wolf exchanged a glance. Alex's excuse for not using the lift was sound and he had impressed them with his fluent lying ability. Such is the world of espionage, that lying is a talent and not a crime.

"I'm sorry, sir," the man said, "but you are not allowed to use the-"

"If Blunt and Jones want to see me," Alex cut him off, "then they can damn well let me use the stairs."

The man blinked, looking uncertain. The receptionist, listening to everything they had said, interrupted.

"The stairs are over there," she said, helpfully pointing to a side door on the left. Alex nodded in thanks and strode over. The man followed quickly, his protests falling on deaf ears. Wolf and Ben shrugged at each other, and swiftly walked to catch up.

They finally reached the correct floor ten minutes later, having stopped several times for Alex to get his breath back. He had refused to show weakness, but Ben had forced him to take a rest every flight of stairs, feigning injury himself to prevent the unfamiliar man from realising that Alex was the one who needed to stop. He couldn't pretend to understand Alex's exact reason for being so stubborn and wanting to hide his pain, but he would respect his wishes and make it easier for him in whatever way he could.

"Mr Blunt and Mrs Jones are waiting for you," the man informed them when they stood outside a nondescript black door. Alex nodded, thanked the man, and opened the door.

Ben's plea to at least knock on the door trailed off when the young spy marched inside, the limp barely noticeable. Ben and Wolf followed him inside cautiously, and sat next to him. The man quietly closed the door behind them, leaving the three facing the heads of MI6. Ben wondered how Alex couldn't be slightly intimidated; these people were responsible for so much of the country.

"Blunt, Jones," Alex greeted them with a nod. Ben and Wolf mumbled greetings themselves.

"Alex," Mrs Jones replied, face blank. Blunt said nothing.

"Why am I here?" Alex asked, leaning casually back in his chair.

"You remember the conversation we had in the hospital?" she answered. He nodded. "Well, we have found out the most likely reason for your sudden kidnapping."

"Which is?" Alex questioned, frustrated at the heads' tendency to skip around the point.

Mrs Jones didn't answer, choosing instead to flick through the files in front of her. Ben wondered what she was looking for.

"Scorpia was almost destroyed a few weeks ago," Blunt took over, "but now it is fully operational again. We wanted to know how that was possible when it is down to you that the organisation was ruined."

Ben and Wolf glanced at Alex, shocked that it was the young spy that had brought such a powerful group to its knees. Alex just looked faintly bored.

"And the answer is . . .?" he asked again.

"Scorpia joined up with another terrorist organisation called Menarc," Mrs Jones said, pushing a piece of paper in front of him. "This is their leader." Ben stretched his neck, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of the man. He managed to see a pale skinned, dark haired man with a very sullen expression before Alex pushed the paper back.

"Menarc?" he repeated, checking the name was correct. "Who are they?"

Mrs Jones sighed heavily. "To be honest with you, Alex," she ignored the spy's snort, "we don't know much about them. Their name comes from Ancient Greek – 'me', meaning 'no' or 'not', and 'archo', 'I rule'. It is basically the same meaning as anarchy: no rules. According to some of our best linguists," here she glanced down at one of the papers in front of her, "'an' and 'me' are both negatives in Ancient Greek."

"This is very interesting, Mrs Jones," Wolf interrupted, "but is there a point to this lesson in Ancient Greek?" Ben turned around to face the man. His expression was blank, but Ben could see his fingers tapping against the side of his chair, a sure sign of boredom.

"Their name is the most information we have, really," the deputy head continued. "You can gather that they do not respect international laws or rights, but they never had much of a reputation. From the information we have, we believe that they didn't do much more than supply men and weapons to other terrorists. They were powerful in their own way, but didn't get involved in terrorist acts themselves."

"What changed?" Alex asked abruptly. Lines of tension were visible on his face, and Ben knew how difficult this conversation was for him.

"We don't really know," said Blunt shortly. "The organisation has always been run by one person since it was formed in World War One. The head of it was always appointed by the last. Our best guess is that a new head was chosen as the other stepped down, and they decided they wanted more power."

Alex cut in, "but you don't really know?"

"No," Blunt agreed. "But the motives are fairly irrelevant. What we know is that Menarc saw the destruction of Scorpia and decided to take it over. The head is now in charge of both Scorpia and Menarc and, although there is still a board in Scorpia, the head has control of pretty much the whole organisation. They are still going by the name Scorpia."

"Why?" asked Ben curiously. Mrs Jones looked at him hard, her eyes narrowed as she examined him. He stayed still, unclear what it was she was looking for.

"We believe Menarc wanted to expand from simply helping other terrorists to doing things themselves. However, they were well known as suppliers and it is unlikely they would ever gain a reputation for anything other than that. By taking over – or 'joining with', as they call it – Scorpia, they can expand and build up that reputation," Mrs Jones explained at length.

"But Scorpia's reputation is shot, I thought?" Wolf said in confusion. "Why take over them?"

It was Alex that explained this time, never taking his eyes off Jones and Blunt. "Scorpia's reputation was bad, yes, but they were feared for a long time. Their reputation would improve drastically if they could be seen to be pulling together again and become powerful once more."

"We pondered for a while over how Menarc had taken over Scorpia, when they weren't particularly powerful. But all too soon, bodies started appearing across the globe, all people that have long been suspected of being affiliated with Scorpia," Mrs Jones carried on. "We established that Menarc was simply using its manpower to kill off all those who protested."

"Why kidnap me?" Alex asked after a short pause. He looked Mrs Jones straight in the eye, and if Ben hadn't spent the last few days visiting him in hospital, he wouldn't have been able to tell that Alex's shoulders were tense at all.

"There's been a number of incidences of people who had crossed Scorpia disappearing," she said, looking down at her papers. "Another agent of ours – only minor, of course – turned up dead in the River Thames a few days ago. Police ruled it as a suicide attempt, but we suspected Scorpia. It seems as if Menarc wants to get rid of all those who embarrassed them in some way, regardless of any deals made."

Ben was frowning at the causal mention of another agent's death. He hadn't heard about it, but knew all too well that it could have been him. He was only 'minor' after all.

"I understand," Alex said in a low voice. He had looked no happier than Ben felt when the agent was mentioned.

"Why was that agent killed immediately, and Cub tortured?" Wolf asked, no emotion at all in his voice. Ben glared at him when he saw that Alex had shut his eyes briefly at his words. The man shrugged slightly at him. "It had to be asked," he mouthed. Ben frowned.

"Because I have information," Alex answered heavily, crossing his arms. "I meet with the head of MI6 and his deputy regularly, and they know that."

"Did you tell them anything?" Blunt questioned sharply. Ben saw Alex glance out of the window, staring at the sunlight glimmering on the leaves of a nearby tree, and hoped he found some comfort in the sight.

"No," Alex replied firmly. "I didn't say a word."

"We'll have to be on our guard, though," Blunt said to Jones, ignoring the others in the room. "If they're asking for information, they're planning something." Alex rolled his eyes.

"When aren't they planning something?" he said exasperatedly. "It's what they _do._"

"Still . . ." Blunt said, looking at Mrs Jones. She nodded almost imperceptibly and stood up.

"Is there anything else you want to ask?" she said, glancing at Alex's faraway expression.

Ben had seen it too, so decided he might as well speak. It didn't look like the young spy was going to. "How do you know all this?"

"How do you think?" Blunt asked. "We have a spy in place."

* * *

"_John," the woman smiled at him, reaching out to take his hand. "We have another mission for you."_

"_A pleasure to see you, Julia, like always," the man replied. "This mission . . . is it for Yassen as well?"_

_She frowned momentarily, clearly disapproving of his attachment to the young assassin. "If you believe he is ready," she answered. _

"_He is," the man said firmly. "He's been ready for a long time."_

"_Then bring him to the meeting tonight, 7pm," she told him. "I'll see you there." She blew him a kiss and he pretended to catch it. _

"_Till __later, __then, __Julia,__" __he __said __to __her __as __she __walked __away. __His __smile __dropped __as __she __left __the __room, __and __his __lips __pursed. __He __hated __having __to __flirt __with __that __God-forsaken __woman __who __would __kill __him __if __she __even __got __a __glimpse __of __treachery. __He __wanted __to __be __at _home_, __with __Helen, __cuddling __up __next __to __the __fire __watching __the __TV __and __laughing __at __the __shows. __He __didn__'__t __want __to __be __here, __anymore, __but __he __knew __his __duty._

_He sighed. Hopefully, it wouldn't be for too long._

_**-finis-**_

* * *

_AN: There you have it, another chapter at last. At least it's longer this time - it kind of got away from me. I was supposed to be putting Alex getting to Ben's in this chapter, but that didn't happen :) oh well, now you know what you'll see next time._

_I know, shock horror, this fic might actually have a plot! It does, I promise. You'll be hearing more about Menarc and Scorpia. And that Ancient Greek is actually true, although menarc does not exist as a word in this language. I typed the 'me' and 'archo' originally in Ancient Greek, but this wouldn't let me keep it. Hence, I translated it into the English alphabet. Sad times :(_

_The last part is a . . . flashback I suppose you could say. Just to illustrate what Alex thinks of when Blunt said they had a 'spy in place'. It is not important to the plot. We will not be seeing any resurrections in this fic._

_Thanks again to those who reviewed, and please tell me what you think of this new chapter!_

_ForeverChasingDreams_


	6. Beginnings

**_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz_**

_A/N: Are you impressed? Two updates in a week? Luckily for you, I'm sacrificing all the work I'm supposed to be doing :) Hope you enjoy . . ._

* * *

_'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step'_

_(Lao Tzu)_

The car drive back from the Royal and General was silent for a long time; all of them turning over the new information. Alex was looking out the window, his head bowed slightly in thought. Wolf was frowning down at his folded arms, occasionally sighing. Ben himself was occupied with wondering how Alex was coping.

"Are you ok, Alex?" he asked finally, his low voice breaking the stillness of the air. He saw Alex's head turn round to face him in his mirror, and was content to know that Alex was actually listening for once.

"Yeah," the spy said, "I'm fine." Wolf snorted.

"What?" Alex snapped defensively. Wolf unfolded his arms.

"You're completely fine," he said sarcastically. He pointed to Alex's sling. "I mean, it's not like you've got a broken arm or anything."

"I'm fine," Alex repeated, and Ben sighed. Couldn't the two of them actually get along for once?

"Sure you are," the soldier replied, glaring at him.

"What's it to you, anyway?" Alex answered harshly, leaning back against the side of the car in a defensive posture.

"It's not fair on Ben if you lie," he hissed back.

"What?" Alex asked, confused by his words. Without either of them noticing, Ben pulled into the driveway of a semi-detached house in the suburbs of London, rolling his eyes.

"Ben has spent so much time trying to help you, and all you do is lie," Wolf replied, somewhat bitterly. Ben smiled slightly at his old friend's protective words, but knew he had to interrupt before it got out of hand.

"Leave it, Wolf," he told the soldier, then turned to the spy. "Don't worry about it, Alex."

Neither of them replied.

Ben took a deep breath – _again_ – and stepped out of the car, noting absently that Wolf was doing the same. He went around the car in order to help Alex out, but found that the teenager was already standing up, his face tense with pain but strangely thoughtful. Ben wrapped an arm around his waist, supporting some of his weight, happy to find that Alex didn't push him away like before.

"Thanks," the teen muttered. Wolf marched ahead of them to the front door. Ben wondered what Alex thought of the house, knowing that it was nothing special.

"It's quite small," he informed the spy, "but it should be fine for us."

He took out a key and unlocked the door. Wolf, used to the house, walked in, dumping his body down on a sofa in the lounge.

"Where are we all going to sleep?" Alex asked curiously.

"You have your own room upstairs," Ben replied absently, leaving the keys on a side and leading Alex through to the living room. "I've obviously got the same room I always sleep in, and there's a small bedroom for one member of K-Unit to sleep in."

"And the others?"

"If more than one of them wants to stay, they'll have to squish in somewhere," Ben shrugged. "Someone could sleep on the sofa, I suppose." He saw Wolf look at it, appraisingly, and Ben realised that there was no way Wolf would fit on the small sofa. Oh well.

Ben released Alex's waist, allowing him to sit down on an armchair, whilst he went into the kitchen to retrieve the bag of drugs Dr Foster had given him in preparation for Alex leaving the hospital. Checking the schedule he had been given, he grabbed one pill and a glass of water.

"Here," he said, handing it over to Alex, "it's a painkiller."

Alex frowned, looking reluctant to take it. However, common sense overruled stubbornness, and he soon swallowed it down. Ben was glad; the tension on Alex's face had not been nice to look at and he knew that that was the only way he would ever be able to tell that the young spy was in pain.

"Why is there never anything on TV?" Wolf complained, flicking through the channels, his expression growing grumpier and grumpier every passing minute. Ben rolled his eyes, and was pleased to see Alex smirking a small bit.

"I'll show you upstairs," Ben said, gesturing to the staircase just visible in the hallway. Alex nodded, rising slowly, the painkillers not having kicked in yet. Ben offered his arm again, but was refused this time with a simple shake of the head. He sighed internally, but knew he had a long way to go until Alex dropped his barriers and explained his actions.

"I only bought this house a few years ago," Ben said, wanting to fill the silence. The chatter of the TV was faint in the background as they climbed the stairs. "My father loaned me some money, as I never really got that much from the army or the SAS. SIS pays well though, and I'm slowly paying him back."

Alex nodded, his head down, concentrating on moving one foot in front of the other and not collapsing when he placed weight on his injured leg.

"It's not big," Ben continued, "but it's all I ever needed. It's got room for my dad to stay as well, when he wants to. And my brother . . ." Ben's voice trailed off, thinking sadly about his stubborn younger brother.

"Still," he said, "it's in a nice neighbourhood, and apparently it's fairly close to your old school?"

Alex nodded, mumbling a quick, "yeah".

"So that means you can go back there when you're a bit better," Ben carried on, noticing with surprise Alex's slight frown at his words. "But, anyway," he said, "here's your room."

He led Alex inside the room next to his. It wasn't that big, but had a single bed and desk inside. There was also a mirror on the front of a large wardrobe, and the walls were painted a very pale blue. A window opposite the desk allowed the light to seep in.

"I thought you might want to take a nap, or something?" Ben suggested, glancing at the teenager's worn face. Alex nodded, sitting down gently on the bed. "I'll bring up the stuff I got from MI6," Ben said, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Minutes later, when Ben had brought up the bags of things that MI6 had collected from his uncle's house, Alex lay back on the bed, his breathing steadying. He had no desire to go to sleep, but he was glad to have the time alone. It had been more overwhelming than he had predicted to leave the hospital, and the conversation at Liverpool Street had been a really test for his nerves. The flashbacks had come thick and fast and it was all he could do to stop himself outwardly reacting. Then coming here, to a place so near his old house and looking so much the same . . . It had not been pleasant. He kept expecting to see Jack walking around the corner, or lounging on the sofa.

_(-"this place is a mess, Alex" she laughed, kicking a stray cushion on the floor-)_

His throat was clogging up and his eyes watering, but he refused to let himself cry. _No __feeling __sorry __for __yourself, _he thought harshly. _She __is __gone, __and __you __have __to __accept __that._

But no matter what he did, the image of Jack's laughing, carefree face never left his mind. Even when he slipped into a restless, unintentional sleep, the picture never faded from his view.

_(-"I got us a takeout for dinner tonight,"_

"_Takeaway," he corrected._

"_Whatever, she laughed, her American accent never fading-)_

* * *

Dinner that night was silent, the three of them clustered around the small table in the open plan lounge, dining room and kitchen. Alex had been woken by Ben a few minutes previous, with the news that it was now evening and that dinner was ready. He had nodded, settling his breathing that had escalated because of Ben leaning over him, and climbed out of the bed.

"I made an appointment with a psychiatrist tomorrow," Ben said hesitantly to Alex over the hot meal of macaroni cheese.

Alex glanced up sharply, saying nothing.

"He's MI6 approved, so you can tell him whatever you like. Forget about 'classified', he has high enough clearance to hear anything you say," Ben carried on, looking nervous at Alex's silence.

"I know you don't like to talk about it, Cub," Wolf joined in, his temper apparently settled from earlier, "but psychiatrists can really help."

Alex looked at him carefully, sensing the honesty in his words. "Personal experience?" he asked carefully.

The soldier shrugged. "I spend half the year in Afghanistan," he replied. "What do you think?"

Alex nodded, playing with his food. He had no doubt that the SAS man had experienced some pretty bad stuff. Ben looked slightly out of his depth, a minor spy who had only ever been on a few missions with MI6 and only one assignment with the SAS, which hadn't been particularly strenuous.

"You need to eat more of that," Ben said, pointing at the food.

Alex shrugged. "Why? You gave me more than anyone else."

"That's because you need to put on weight," Ben answered, frustrated.

"He's right," Wolf agreed. "You're way too light."

Alex felt mutinous. He couldn't eat all of the food on his plate, and the hospital had never made him eat so much.

"I know you're not that hungry, Alex," Ben started.

"You're right, I'm not," Alex muttered.

"But you do need to put the weight back on."

Alex stared at the food, contemplating how much more of it he could eat. He had eaten well over half, and had only a small amount left. His stomach felt full, and as he lifted some more of the pasta up to his lips, his stomach revolted. He placed it down quickly, trying not to retch.

"I can't," he told Ben quietly, picking up his plate with his one working hand and putting the macaroni in the food bin placed conveniently next to the main one. He put his plate in the dishwasher-

_(-Jack was standing there, soapy plate in hand as she told Alex to get out the ice cream. _

"_Why do you wash them by hand?" he asked curiously._

"_It's more satisfying," she replied smiling, her red hair curtaining her face-) _

- and walked out of the room, ignoring Ben calling his name.

Behind him, Ben and Wolf exchanged frustrated glances.

"We shouldn't have pushed him," Ben muttered.

Wolf shrugged. "We're going to have to at one point," he reasoned. "I think we're just going to have to get used to him walking out on us."

"Learning when to back off would be a good skill too," said Alex from the doorway. "As would learning not to talk about me behind my back." He glared at them, shoulders tense, and Ben knew they had hurt him, in a way. Trust was everything with Alex, even if he rarely learnt to trust anyone himself.

"Sorry," Ben said quietly. "It's a bit of a new situation for all of us. Will you stay downstairs for a bit?"

Alex frowned at them for a moment longer, but knew that he was unlikely to get back to sleep straight away. An evening spent up in his room, all alone, looked slightly less appealing than passing the time down in the lounge with Ben and Wolf, as awkward as it would be. He nodded and made his way into the connecting room, collapsing onto the sofa, grateful that the earlier painkiller was still working and he felt only minimal pain when moving.

Ben and Wolf soon joined him, the dishwasher making a steady noise behind them as they sat on the sofa and armchair in awkward silence.

"Shall we watch a film?" Ben suggested, wandering over to the collection of disks on one of the shelves. Alex shrugged as Wolf agreed.

"The Godfather?" Wolf said in hope. Ben glanced at Alex, who pretended not to notice, and shook his head slightly. Alex knew that Ben was thinking of all the violence in the film.

"I was thinking about . . . maybe . . . 127 hours?" Ben said at last, after searching through his films for something that wasn't too violent or possibly triggering for Alex.

"What's it about?" Alex asked, finally speaking up. Ben looked over at him from his crouched position on the floor, and explained.

"It's about a guy who goes climbing in America," he said, "but gets stuck and has to cut his hand off. I think it basically details the one hundred and twenty seven hours he was trapped."

"Sounds interesting," Wolf snorted, "how can they make a film about a guy who's alone for the whole time? What the hell do they put in it?"

Ben shrugged. "I'm not sure," he replied, "but it's supposed to be really good. It's a true story, as well."

Alex pulled his legs up onto the sofa, wincing when he realised that the movement pulled on both his leg and back wounds. He settled for crossing his arms instead, and tried not to think about the similarities between his and the climber's stories. Both trapped beyond their control, both badly injured . . . He wasn't sure he wanted to see it.

"Let's watch it then," sighed Wolf. "Since it seems like I can't see the Godfather," he added, muttering. Ben put the disk inside the machine, returning to the sofa and stretching his legs out in front of him. Alex leaned back, resigned to watching the film.

* * *

He was surprised later on, when he realised that he had actually quite enjoyed it. The violence was minimal, and it was fascinating to see how the climber – not trained to deal with those sorts of situations – dealt with it all during the days he was trapped. Alex thought long and hard about whether he could have cut off his own hand to get free like the climber did; it was a choice he hoped he would never have to make.

Ben stood up, yawning; it was now past ten. Alex copied; strangely tired despite the nap he took earlier.

"Well, I'm going to go to bed," Ben said, stretching his arms above his head.

"Right," muttered Wolf, still lazing around on the armchair. "I'm going to stay up longer, I think."

"Alex?" Ben asked.

"Hmm?" he said, having started to drift off where he stood. He yawned. "I'm going to bed too," he answered.

Ben and Alex made their way slowly up the stairs. The painkillers had now worn off and he was limping slightly.

"I took the different drugs upstairs for you, along with the schedule," Ben told him once they reached the landing. "I know you'd prefer to monitor your own body."

Alex nodded, surprised at this show of trust. He had had startlingly little control over his life for the past few weeks, and the knowledge that Ben was trying to make it easier for him by surrendering this little job to him made him smile.

"Thanks," he murmured, unable to demonstrate how much that small act meant to him.

"No problem," Ben replied easily, and Alex thought that, maybe, Ben did understand.

"Night," he muttered sleepily, and walked into the – _his_– room, hearing Ben say goodnight behind him. Settling down on the bed, he cast his mind over the happenings of the day, and smiled.

* * *

_He looked around the small enclosed room, so famili__ar to him after the weeks he had spent there. Strangely, there was sunlight streaming into the room from a large window, but when he looked out, the view went dark. He felt a tingle of pain in his hand, and glanced at it to see his hand hanging, his wrist almost completely sawn through. The muscle and bone could easily be seen and blood was dripping everywhere . . ._

"_Alex!" he heard a cry. He looked away from his wrist and saw Jack standing against the opposite wall. As he watched, there was a bang and she slid down the wall, crimson everywhere, and he was falling, falling, falling . . ._

Alex sat up, breathing frantically and shaking. He hadn't had a dream that bad for a few days, and he cursed himself for watching that stupid film the night before.

_(-alone, he was alone, nobody but him, and pain, and death, and loneliness, and fear, fear of blood, fear of being alone, fear of death, fear, fear, fear, fear -)_

Swinging his legs off the bed, he padded over to the desk where he could see the piles of pills and a piece of paper. Picking up the paper, he saw that he had forgotten to take his painkiller the night before, and, shrugging, he swallowed one dry. _That __would __explain __the __pain, _he thought wryly as he limped out of the room and into the bathroom that Ben had shown him the day before. He glanced at the mirror, turning quickly away when he saw his reflection. He looked like a ghost: pale, white and tense, with the crooked scar on his cheek, his hair shaved short, and a sling round his arm.

Dropping the sling, he stepped into the shower, ignoring the fact that it was only two in the morning. He wanted to wash away all the grime he could feel covering him and the imaginary dirt that seemed to fill his body whenever he thought about his dream. The shower was ice-cold, but Alex didn't mind. The temperature helped ground him, and pulled his mind out of the images that kept flashing repeatedly in front of his eyes.

After a few minutes, he stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. He returned to his room, dressing quickly to avoid looking at the scars he knew were twisting around his body. After checking the time – 2:18 – he tiptoed downstairs, still slightly limping, intent on getting a cup of tea. He was surprised to find Wolf sitting in the kitchen, nursing a mug of coffee and looking down at the table.

"Wolf?" he said softly, unsure what the soldier was doing. His head shot up suddenly, looking surprised. Apparently, he hadn't heard him come downstairs.

"Cub?" Wolf asked. "What are you doing up?"

Alex walked around to the kettle, filling it up with water while he pondered how to answer the question. "Couldn't sleep," he replied at last. "You?"

"The same," Wolf murmured, and Alex decided not to comment on his bloodshot eyes or the way he ran his hand through his hair. Wolf was respecting his wishes in not questioning him further, so he could do the same.

Alex got out a mug and a tea bag, placing a small amount of milk and sugar in the cup. When the kettle had boiled, he poured the water into the mug and sat down, noticing that Wolf hadn't moved at all.

"Stupid film," he muttered, not looking at the soldier.

Wolf snorted in surprise, and quietly agreed, "Yeah".

"I blame Ben," Alex said, taking a sip of his still-too-hot tea.

Wolf chuckled slightly. "I'll tell him that in the morning".

"It's the morning now, technically," Alex said absently.

"Smart-arse," the soldier replied, before downing his coffee and standing up. Alex looked up, wondering what he was doing.

"Since it's the morning," Wolf carried on, "I think I'm going back to bed."

Alex nodded, aware that there was no chance of him getting back to sleep, especially not after such a nightmare.

"Yeah," he said, swallowing the last of his tea, "I think I'll do the same."

They went upstairs in silence, saying not a word, and went into their rooms. Neither commented on the fact that they both knew the other would be lying awake until the morning dawned, hours later. Instead, they hid in their rooms, lonely but unwilling to fight the voice that said they couldn't tell others of their weakness.

Alex wondered when he had become so stubborn.

* * *

_A/N: Impressed? Two updates? I'm in shock . . ._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this :) I'm trying to write more in-depth than my other stories (most which have been deleted now - see my profile for more details). Let me know if you think I succeeded!_

_Please review, I'd love to get to one hundred :D_

_ForeverChasingDreams_


	7. Steps

**_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz_**

_A/N: I know, you don't have to say anything, I'm just amazing :D three updates in a week? Bizarre. Don't expect it to happen again . . ._

* * *

_'In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer'_

_(Albert Camus)_

Alex slipped silently into the kitchen at eight o'clock the next morning, stifling the yawn that told him how bad an idea it had been to stay up the whole night.

"Breakfast?" Ben asked quietly from his position at the stove. Alex nodded, muttering a quick thank you, and sat down at the table.

"Where's Wolf?" he questioned, realising that the soldier was not anywhere he could see.

"Having a shower, I think," Ben replied, reaching down to pull the milk out of the fridge. "How did you sleep?" Ben was looking at him closely, his eyes shrewd, and Alex realised with a jolt that the man may well have heard the shower going at two o'clock in the morning.

"Fine," he mumbled, staring down at the table. He heard Ben sigh, but when he next looked up, the man was busy stirring the pan of whatever-it-was, sprinkling in some salt.

Feeling awkward at the silence that was hanging over the kitchen, he got up to make a cup of coffee. He knew he desperately needed one.

"Forgoing the British tradition of tea in the mornings, are we?" Ben asked, slightly amused.

"Huh," Alex answered, "I spent three years of my life in foreign countries." He shrugged. "I picked up their habits. Like having coffee instead of tea."

"Three years?" Ben said, surprise clear in his voice.

"My uncle travelled a lot," Alex muttered, before changing the topic to something less emotionally stressful. "What's for breakfast?"

"Scrambled egg," Ben grinned, holding up the pan for Alex to see. "It's one of the few things I can actually cook."

_(-Jack smiled, a giggle erupting from her lips at the sight in front of her. A piece of burnt toast lay on a plate, an eight-year-old Alex standing sheepishly next to it._

"_You need to learn to cook," she said-)_

Alex nodded, pushing the flashback out of his mind. He sat down again with his mug of coffee, sipping it gently and blowing on it when he discovered it was too hot.

A few minutes later, just as Ben was piling the food onto three plates, Wolf stumbled into the kitchen. His hair was damp and his expression warned people to 'back off'.

"Morning," Ben said cheerfully. Wolf grunted.

Alex didn't say anything, not needing to be psychic to figure out that Wolf was not in a good mood. Obviously, the man didn't deal with little sleep well.

The soldier flopped down in a seat, glancing briefly at Alex. The spy had already decided not to mention their early morning meeting again, and hoped Wolf would do the same. When Wolf's head dropped onto the table, Alex guessed that the man wouldn't be having an in-depth conversation that morning.

Ben handed out the plates, and sat down at the table. Alex noticed Ben eyeing him meaningfully, nodding slightly at his plate. Alex glanced down, realising that yet again, his plate had more food than anyone else's did. He rolled his eyes, but starting eating without commenting. Wolf managed to raise his head up long enough to scoff the food down, and so breakfast passed without incident.

When everyone had finished eating, and the plates had been cleared away, Ben turned to Alex.

"Your psychiatrist is booked for eleven," he informed him quietly.

Alex nodded, saying nothing.

"Be ready to leave at quarter to, ok?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, heading over to the sink and filling it up with water.

"Hey," Ben said, "you don't need to do that."

Alex shrugged. "You did the cooking," he replied. "I'll wash up the pan. I'm used to it, anyway. Jack, my . . ." he took a deep breath, "my last guardian, she always made me do the washing up by hand."

Ben was looking at him carefully, no doubt having noticed the pause.

"Wolf can help dry things up then," he said sternly, accepting Alex's explanation. Wolf groaned, but got up. He looked slightly livelier now that he had eaten, in Alex's opinion. Alex grabbed some washing-up liquid, squirting it generously into the water, and started scrubbing the pan clean. His mind relaxed as he began the familiar soothing movements, and even the low chatter of Ben and Wolf behind him didn't break him out of his calmness. Until, that is, Ben decided to ask him a question and put his hand on his shoulder, without Alex realising.

_(-screaming, pain, that crimson blood soaking his T-shirt, falling, scared, "tell us, Rider, tell us", the shimmering silver of a knife, more pain, more blood-)_

"Alex?" he heard a voice call worriedly. He struggled to get his breathing under control, gasping in air like he had just been drowned-

_(-water flowing over his head, drowning, no air, he couldn't breathe, "don't like water boarding, hey, Rider?", trying desperately to scream with the water over him-)_

"Cub," a man's voice was saying, over and over and over.

"Come on,"

"You're safe here,"

_(-gasping, choking, he couldn't breathe, water again, "no, no, no", pain, a fist hitting him, spiralling down down down-)_

"Alex," he heard Ben say again. _Ben, _he thought, _Ben __wasn__'__t __with __Scorpia __. __. __._

"Hey, Cub," Wolf was murmuring, "you're safe, you're at home,"

He valiantly attempted to get his breathing under control again, pushing forcefully against the images flooding through his mind. _No, _he said firmly, _I__'__m __not __there __any more._

"Come on, Alex," Ben was still saying, "come back to us."

He was aware that he was sitting down, vaguely feeling water dripping down his arms-

_(-water over him, flooding, can't scream, can't breathe, need to-)_

-but _no, _he was at Ben's, not there anymore, and he could hear Wolf and Ben's voices, feel the wooden surface of a kitchen cupboard against his back, and he was ok, he was _ok._

"That's it, Cub," Wolf encouraged, "keep breathing."

He was _trying_, trying to draw in that vital air that seemed so elusive, and he fought down the panic that threatened to rise at any moment that he even thought about- _no, _he wouldn't think about it, he was at Ben's, he was _safe, _he could hear the gentle murmurings of Ben and Wolf, and he knew that he was ok, he was fine, he wasn't there anymore. . .

He felt his breathing settle a small bit and the dizziness faded. He could see that he was on the ground, Ben and Wolf crouched a little distance away, speaking to him in calm voices. He was grateful that they'd had the sense not to crowd him, and he searched their eyes for any pity he might find. He was surprised to see none, just concern and compassion and worry, and he breathed a little easier.

"Alex?" Ben asked, reaching out a hand and leaving it hanging in midair, ready for him to accept it when he was calm enough.

Taking a deep breath, and firmly pushing all the flashbacks as far away as he could in his mind, he unsteadily raised his hand, shaking a little when he touched Ben's, but not withdrawing.

Ben grasped his hand tightly, smiling reassuringly at him. "You ok?" he asked gently. Alex nodded, weakly pushing himself up using the side of the cupboard for help. He sucked in his breath when he felt pain shooting through his leg, protesting against the cramped position he had been sitting in, but didn't fall. He pulled his hand out of Ben's, noticing absently that the two men had risen too, and turned to walk out of the kitchen.

"Quarter to eleven, right?" he said softly, his voice slightly shaking still. He hated himself for showing weakness for that, and he was deeply embarrassed that he had had a breakdown in Ben's kitchen. He hadn't ever let the flashbacks have so much control over him, he'd let his guard down. . . He focused on his breathing again, aware that he was constantly on the edge of descending into another panic. Hearing Ben's reply that yes, they were leaving at 10.45, he walked up the stairs and into his room as casually as he could manage, unaware of Ben and Wolf's surprised and concerned expressions behind him.

* * *

"What was that?" Wolf said at last, shocked by the events of the morning.

"That," Ben said quietly, "was the first time Alex has let us see a flashback."

"You reckon he's had more, then?" the soldier questioned, sitting down heavily at the kitchen table and resting his head on his hands. He was dimly aware of Ben doing the same thing, both exhausted from trying to retrieve Cub from wherever his mind had taken him. Sadly, Wolf had a very good idea of what he was remembering; having seen the conditions the young spy had been living in for those few months.

"I think so," Ben replied tiredly. "Dr Foster thought he had too."

Wolf was quiet, his mind still replaying the scene of a few minutes ago. He had never seen Cub like that before, so vulnerable and so panicked, and he hoped that he would never again. It had been scary, seeing the confident teenager like that, and it was only Ben's calm instructions that had stopped him from ringing up Snake in a panic. The medic would've known what to do.

"How did _you_ know what to do?" Wolf asked, realising that Ben wasn't trained as a medic like Snake.

"I talked to the psychiatrist MI6 has assigned to Alex," the man replied, getting up to make a cup of tea. "I thought something like this might happen, and I decided it was best to be prepared."

"Clever," the soldier mumbled.

"Tea?" Ben asked, holding up a teabag.

"You Brits and your bloody tea," Wolf replied, an edge of teasing in his voice. He was glad to change the subject; he had no desire to keep revisiting the scene.

Ben shrugged. "Everyone knows tea cures everything," he smiled. "Just because you're foreign and don't understand."

"I've lived in England most of my life," Wolf pointed out. "I'm technically a British citizen, even if I was born in Spain."

"Whatever," Ben drawled. "Is that a no to tea, then?"

Wolf thought about it. "Oh, just give me some of the bloody stuff," he grumbled.

Ben snorted, placing another teabag in the teapot. "If you're sure . . ." he said with a grin.

"Bloody Brits," Wolf muttered. Ben laughed, seeing the contradiction in Wolf's words.

"Bloody Spaniards," he returned.

"What have I done?" Wolf replied with a fake wounded expression.

"Thought you were a British citizen now?" Ben asked, catching out the soldier.

" . . . Shut up."

* * *

"Alex!" Ben called out a while later, standing at the bottom of the stairs. He and Wolf had given the teenager some space after his flashback, understanding the embarrassment and uncertainty he would have been feeling. Ben knew that Alex prided himself on control more than anything else, and he was probably mortified that he had let that lapse, in his eyes. Personally, Ben thought it was amazing that he had lasted as long as he had without some sort of incident.

Alex appeared at the top of the stairs, slowly making his way down using only one hand to cling onto the banister. Ben longed to give him a hand, but knew that the fiercely independent teenager wouldn't take kindly to it.

"Where's Wolf?" he asked when he reached the bottom.

"In here!" Wolf called from the lounge.

"He's not coming," Ben explained to the confused looking spy. "There's no point in us all going, but since I'm your legal guardian, I have to go."

"Ok," Alex answered, shrugging on a coat that he had had draped over his shoulder as he had descended the stairs.

"See you later, Wolf," Ben called as they walked out of the house. "Don't let any strangers in!"

"He does that often?" Alex asked, amused, walking towards the car.

"It's Wolf," Ben explained simply. "You never know."

Alex smirked, climbing into the passenger seat of the car. "Wish I could drive this," he muttered, looking longingly at the steering wheel.

"No way," said Ben straight away, then paused. "Wait, you can drive?"

"I'm a spy," Alex replied, still smirking. "What do you think?"

Ben had no reply. He just stared at the teenager in amazement. "How . . .?"

"My uncle taught me," he said, understanding the unspoken question. "It's been a while though."

"Your uncle . . .?"

"Was a spy too," he answered, glancing at Ben's face in amusement.

"Your uncle was a spy," Ben repeated, looking a bit shell-shocked. Alex had an interesting past . . .

"Yeah," Alex said, his face darkening. "Didn't know that for a long time, though."

He cast his mind back involuntarily to that time before he had known about Ian's job, to that period of his life when the man was simply an eccentric, unreliable, uncle, who never seemed to be home. Jack had been his saving grace then.

_(-"He'll be back soon, I'm sure,"-)_

Until the time he didn't come back at all.

"What happened?" Ben asked softly.

"He died," said Alex shortly, twisting to face out of the window. Ben, realising that the teenager didn't want to talk about it, turned his attention back to the car and pulled out of the driveway.

The rest of the drive was silent.

* * *

"Alex Rider to see Dr King," Ben informed the receptionist when they reached the psychiatrist's office. Alex was glancing over his shoulder constantly, calculating how long it would take him to get to the door if he made a run for it, and what the chances of Ben catching him were. Pretty good, he deduced with a sigh as he realised that Ben was tense next to him, ready to jump into action. The man obviously didn't expect him to stay in one place, either.

The receptionist hummed, looking at something on her screen. She glanced up finally, and gestured to one of the plush sofas. "Please, take a seat," she told them. "Dr King will be ready for you in a few minutes."

Alex and Ben did as she directed, sitting down opposite a young girl and her harried looking mother. Alex looked around in fascination, taking in all the fancy artwork and posh sculptures. He supposed MI6 only got the best, after all, even if there were many people from outside the organisation who used these services as well. Like the girl and her mum, who were currently engaged in a whispered argument. The girl was frowning, her face twisting in annoyance. Alex wondered what she was there for.

"You alright?" Ben asked quietly, noticing his distraction.

"Yeah," Alex replied, turning his gaze back to the floor. Neither spoke again as they watched the people in the lobby slowly filter in and out, waiting for their turn. Finally, after what must have been only a few minutes but what felt like hours, their names were called and they were directed to Dr King's room.

"Ah," the man said when they walked in. "Mr Rider, I presume?" he asked Alex. He nodded, taking in the man's odd outfit – jeans and a T-shirt, declaring 'hugs not drugs', with a jacket over the top.

"And hello again, Mr Daniels," he carried on, reaching out to shake Ben's hand. He looked only a few years older than Ben, with brown hair that was just beginning to recede.

"Dr King," Ben said in greeting. "It's nice to see you again." Alex watched the exchange, wondering when the two had met before.

"Please, take a seat," the psychiatrist said, gesturing to some chairs in front of his desk. They did as they were asked.

"This is just going to be an introductory meeting, I believe," Dr King said. "Just so I can find out some more about you, Alex, ok?"

Alex said nothing.

Dr King pointed to a connecting room. "If you would wait in there, Mr Daniels, while Alex and I talk. I like to conduct these sorts of things individually if you don't mind.

Ben agreed, getting up from his chair.

"It's pretty much sound-proof," the man reassured Alex. "He won't be able to hear us talk."

Alex didn't reply, looking down at his hands.

"I'm sure you'll find it comfortable," Dr King told Ben. "There's a sofa and some magazines and even a TV. Feel free to use any of it, make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you," Ben smiled at the man. He looked at Alex, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "I'll see you in half an hour," he said quietly.

Alex nodded, looking up at him quickly before dropping his head again. Ben sighed, and moved to the other room, the door swinging shut behind him.

"Now, Alex," Dr King said gently. "What do you want to talk about?"

Alex said nothing.

* * *

Half an hour later, Ben was startled by Dr King walking into the room and standing opposite him.

"Well?" Ben asked. "How'd it go?"

The man sighed wearily. "He won't talk to me," he admitted. "I thought it was just because he was intimidated at first, but I don't think that's it."

"Alex isn't intimidated," Ben replied. "He's just stubborn."

"How has he been at home?" Dr King questioned.

Ben crossed his arms. "Quiet," he said at last. "He doesn't talk much or give anything away."

"I guessed that," the man said.

"He had a flashback this morning," Ben continued. "He panicked when I touched him and it took him a while to come out of it."

"Well," the psychiatrist mused, "we're just going to have to hope that he talks to us soon. Keep bringing him back, I'll try some different methods of getting him to open up next week."

"Thank you," Ben said quietly, standing up and moving into the other room.

"Hey Alex," he greeted the boy, who still sat hunched in the chair.

Alex nodded.

"I'll see you next week, ok, Alex?" Dr King said. Alex ignored him, rising up and putting on his coat.

"Come on," Ben sighed, leading him out the door. "Bye, Dr King," he called back.

The door shut before he heard the man's reply.

Back in the car, Ben pondered how best to broach the topic with Alex. The young spy was staring out of the window, his eyes closed, and Ben wondered what he was thinking about.

"Alex?" he asked tentatively.

The boy turned round to face him, his expression blank.

"Are you ok?" he said, cursing the uselessness of his line of question. Of course Alex wasn't ok, but there was no way he would admit to that.

"Fine," came the short reply.

There was silence for a few minutes. Then Ben sighed.

"Wolf was right," he said in a low voice. Alex looked at him curiously. "I don't know why I bother," he carried on, "you're just going to keep on lying to me."

Alex looked down, saying nothing for a while. Finally, he muttered, "sorry."

"I know you are, Alex," Ben said wearily, "I'm just going to have to get used to it."

"I- I- I don't mean to," Alex said quietly, his head down, one hand picking at a thread in his jumper. Ben reached out and stalled the movement, causing Alex to look up at him.

"I know," he sighed, never taking his eyes of the road. "I do know you're trying."

An unidentifiable emotion crossed Alex's face, too fast to be recognizable.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled again. "It's- It's hard," he said at last, breathing deeply. Ben glanced at him, understanding how difficult it had been for the strong young spy to admit that, to acknowledge out loud that he was struggling. He was beyond grateful that Alex had finally opened up a little. Small steps, he knew.

"You're doing ok," Ben reassured him softly.

Alex looked out the window again, blinking heavily. Ben didn't speak; he just allowed the boy the distance he knew he must need, after taking that first step. Alex was going to be ok, he knew, now that he had started to let people in again.

Even if he did blank that psychiatrist for half an hour. That was just plain rude.

* * *

_A/N: This is for all the amazing people who have reveiwed, added my story to favourites, and put it on story alert. Thank you all!_

_This chapter was aimed at those people who said they would like Alex to be a bit less stubborn - here you see his mask crack a little bit. It's a slow process for all those involved, and believe me, there will be set backs, but he's on his way. Just to let you know, while I have the main plot regarding Scorpia & Menarc set out and everything, I haven't planned out the moments in between. If there's anything you particularly want to see, an interection between K-Unit and Alex, or with Tom or something, tell me and I might include it, you never know! _

_Thank you all for reading,_

_ForeverChasingDreams_


	8. Patience

_**Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz**_

_A/N: I know, the fourth update? This will be the last for a while, I do have to catch up on all the work I've missed writing these chapters. My life is going to get hectic from here on out, so please bear with me._

_Thanks so much for your amazing response. Special call out to xDarklightx who was the 100th reviewer :D_

* * *

_'Come what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day'_

_(Macbeth, Act 1 Scene 3)_

"Hey," Ben said softly to Alex, peeking his head around the door of his room. The young spy was lying on his bed, his laptop open in front of him and his earphones in. At a loss of how to get his attention, he knocked loudly on the door. Alex glanced up briefly, looking startled to see him there, but he willingly unplugged himself from the computer.

"Hey," Alex greeted, sitting up on the bed. Dr Foster had allowed him to take off the sling the day before, and had told him the happy news that his body was healing well, albeit slowly. Apparently, he would have no lasting effects, apart from scars and a stiff leg from time to time.

"Are you going to come down?" Ben asked, stepping fully into the room.

"Yeah," Alex mumbled quietly, looking away. Ben sighed, understanding his hesitance.

"He'll be here soon," he informed the teenager, smiling reassuringly.

"I know," Alex replied, standing up gradually, and he winced a small bit. Ben noticed however, and gestured towards the pile of pills.

"If it hurts," he said in a low voice, saddened that Alex was still in such a state of pain, "take another painkiller."

Alex shook his head. "I've got an hour to go before I can have another," he answered, stretching his leg out in front of him. "It's just stiff because I've been lying down for so long."

Ben nodded, accepting the explanation. "Well, all of K-Unit are here now and my dad will be arriving soon. . ." he left the sentence unfinished.

"I'm coming," Alex answered, walking to stand next to Ben. He looked unsure for a moment, his mouth open as if he wanted to say more. Ben smiled at him again, waiting for him to gather up the courage to speak.

"What-" he began, then sighed and shut his mouth. Ben tried to look encouraging, but Alex walked out of the room without speaking again.

"Damn," he muttered, knowing he had been seconds away from seeing Alex lower one of his walls. If only he wasn't so closed off . . . It had been a week since the teenager had been released from hospital, and Ben was no closer to Alex than he was at the beginning. The boy was like a hedgehog; every time you got close, you got spiked. You had to know how to approach if you wanted to get close enough to touch, and Ben still hadn't learnt how.

He knew Alex was having nightmares pretty much every night, having heard the shower going at two or three o'clock, but the spy denied it so convincingly in the morning that he wondered if he was simply being overprotective or suffocating. The bags under his eyes soon reassured Ben that there was a problem though; Alex looked like he hadn't slept at all most days.

Trying to forget his failure, yet again, in getting Alex to open up, he followed him down the stairs, wincing with him every time the teen had to grab onto the banister as his injured leg gave out. Whilst the arm had healed well, the leg was taking a while, and the physiotherapy on it was intense, Ben knew. Alex always came back exhausted from a session.

"Cub," Eagle's voice greeted as Ben traipsed downstairs after him. The soldier was laying spread across the sofa with Wolf and Snake squished, disgruntled, onto the armchair. All of K-Unit came round most days, although each one took it in turns to stay the night. Alex had spent the day up in his room the first time they all came round, apparently overwhelmed, until Ben had managed to persuade him to come down in the evening.

"Come on," he had said gently, "they'll be on their best behaviour, I promise."

Alex had looked at him, sceptical.

"You can't spend the rest of your life up in your room," Ben had said, reaching out slowly to take his hand. After the incident before, all had been careful not to touch him when he wasn't expecting it, fearing another flashback.

Alex had nodded, finally, and allowed himself to be dragged downstairs. They had watched another film after dinner, Eagle entertaining them with a series of jokes and smart-arsed comments. Ben had been pleased to see Alex joining in a small bit, laughing with the others. He had even clapped his hands when Eagle had pulled off a lovely rendition of the guy on the film, dodging bullets and still managing to kiss a girl – or in his case, a pillow.

"Finally emerged, have you?" Eagle teased as they both walked into the lounge. Ben gave him a warning glance, but Alex just smiled and sat down on top of him. Eagle grunted, the air whooshing out of him as the teen – as underweight as he was – squashed his lungs.

"Hey!" Eagle spluttered, trying to push him off. Ben grinned at the sight; the two had bonded fairly quickly, what with Eagle being – and behaving – the youngest, and Alex still a teenager himself.

"You had it coming," Ben said jokily, sitting down on the floor and grabbing the remote.

"What did I do?" Eagle asked, trying to sound innocent. It failed; the air filled with the sounds of muted laughter and snorts.

"You exist," muttered Wolf under his breath. Eagle, finally succeeding in pushing Alex off him and onto the floor, threw a cushion at him. Alex grabbed one himself and wacked Eagle round the head.

"That," he said dangerously, "was for pushing me onto the floor."

Wolf grinned sadistically, and lobbed the thrown cushion back at Eagle too. "And that," he said, resembling his name-sake scarily at that moment, "was for stealing the entire sofa."

Eagle pouted, and threw the cushion back.

"Hey!" snapped Snake, who the cushion had hit. "What the hell was that for?"

Ben groaned. This would not end well.

Thus, a cushion fight was started.

* * *

Two minutes in, the doorbell rang. Ben, being the only one who wasn't currently engaged in a childish game of who can hit whom the hardest, got up to answer it. He was well aware of who it was, as was Alex if his wary eyes were anything to go by. Ben had invited his father over that day, as the old man had been desperate to meet his new 'grandson'. Alex had been understandably nervous and had hidden in his room the whole morning. Ben noticed out of the corner of his eye that Alex had stood up and was hanging on the door of the lounge, his eyes tracking his progress to the door. Ben turned around briefly to smile at him before opening it. The sounds of the soldiers still fighting were clearly audible, but Ben's father was well used to K-Unit.

"Ben," the man greeted shortly, stepping inside and taking off his coat. Ben was well versed in his father's confident ways and was ready to hang it up.

"Dad," he answered with a smile, clasping his hand briefly. "How have you been?"

"Good," he replied, peering rather unsubtly round Ben. "Where's the newest addition then?"

Ben sighed, hoping to hell that Alex would be ok meeting his rather forward and grumpy father. Once you got to know him, he was a very kind man, but he had a prickly outer shell. _A __bit __like __Alex __in __that __respect_, Ben mused thoughtfully.

"Here, sir," Alex said quietly, stepping into view. The man walked forward quickly and Ben was unsurprised to see Alex tense. He examined Alex closely for a few seconds before holding out his hand.

"Alan," he said gruffly.

Alex shook his hand, clutching it just as tightly as he was. Ben looked on, knowing that his father was testing Alex in a way.

"Alex," the spy returned.

"Hmm," Alan said. "Welcome to the family, I guess."

Alex nodded, murmuring, "Thanks".

Ben smiled at the two of them. "Shall we go through? It's been a while since you've seen K-Unit, Dad."

"True, true," he answered, walking past Alex into the lounge. Ben shot Alex a reassuring look and they both followed.

"Alan!" Eagle cried when he saw the man. Ben sighed at the mess in the lounge. Cushions were everywhere and Snake was on the floor mopping up a glass of water that presumably had been spilt.

Alan smiled. "Matt," he greeted him. Ben saw a flash of curiosity dart across Alex's face and realised that none of the soldiers had told them their real names. To be honest, most had got into the habit of using codenames.

"Hey," the two other soldiers exchanged greetings with the man.

"How come he knows you all so well?" Alex asked Ben in interest.

Ben shrugged. "Dunno really," he mused, "guess it's just because he lives so near me and we spend a lot of time in London."

"Why?"

"For me, it's just easier for MI6 so I bought a house here. I think the rest of them stay in London for the convenience as well. You can travel anywhere from London, and travel is kind of important for a soldier," Ben explained, eyeing Alex's inquisitive face. Alex rarely initiated conversations if he was honest, preferring to listen and just join in if he wanted to. It was refreshing to see the spy take an interest.

"They don't all live around here?" Alex asked, catching the implications in Ben's words.

"No," Ben answered. "Wolf lives in a little flat not too far away from here and Snake lives with his wife in a rented house about fifteen minutes drive away. Eagle however lives a couple of hours outside London."

"How come he's here?" Alex asked, glancing towards the soldier currently involved in a discussion with Alan and the rest.

"His sister lives in London so he's staying with her," Ben replied. "He does it fairly often and he's saving to buy a flat here, I think."

Alex nodded thoughtfully. Ben smiled, realising that it was probably weird for him to think of the tough soldiers at Brecon Beacons as having homes and lives.

"We're people too," Ben said in amusement when Alex was still staring at the soldiers, deep in thought.

"I know," he said softly. "I just . . ."

"I get it," Ben responded when he didn't finish the sentence.

Alex nodded. Ben got a lot of things no one else seemed to pick up on.

* * *

"Alex, you said earlier, right?" Alex heard Alan ask. Alex was sitting in the kitchen nursing a cup of tea sometime later. The rest were lounging on the sofa and chairs watching something on TV.

"Yeah," he replied quietly, not looking up. He didn't know what to think of the strangely gruff man that seemed to be such a mix of contradictions: honest, but manipulative, kind, but harshly spoken.

"Ben hasn't told me much about you, you know," Alan said, looking at him closely. Alex shrugged.

"He hasn't said much about you either," he replied instantly. Alan chuckled.

"You're a fast one," he informed the spy. Alex smirked. If only he knew . . .

"How come you're staying with Ben then?" the man asked curiously. Alex wondered just what Ben had told him and just how much he could say without revealing too much. He wasn't sure he could trust this man, father of Ben or not.

"What has Ben told you?" he replied, deflecting the question.

"Just mumbled it was something to do with his work," Alan said, peering at him closely. Both ignored the sounds of the soldiers arguing, yet again, in the living room. "He told me he works for MI6, but not what he does. So how in hell are you connected to that?"

Alex shrugged, looking lost. How come Ben had told his father when Ian hadn't deigned to tell him?

"I don't know what I can tell you," he answered honestly. Alan frowned, looking ready to argue. Alex was thankful that Snake wandered over at that moment to grab a glass of water and sat down next to them.

"Looked like a heavy conversation," the soldier said in his Scottish accent. Alex shrugged.

"Just trying to get to know each other," Alan answered gruffly.

"Ha," snorted Snake, "have fun with that."

"What do you mean?" Alan asked in interest. Alex looked away uncomfortably, having an idea what the SAS man was talking about.

"Not many get to know this one," the soldier said, jabbing his thumb at Alex, who didn't react. Snake was the only one he didn't know very well, having never had a one on one conversation with him. He didn't blame him for his opinion.

"Why's that?" Alan questioned, his gruff face frowning in thought.

"Boy's as sharp as a knife and about as friendly," Snake grunted. Alex's eyebrows drew together, becoming slightly offended.

"Hey," he objected, "that's a bit unfair."

"Is it?" Snake asked, eyebrows raised. "You've been here a week and in hospital God knows how long before that, and I still don't know how old you are or where your parents are."

"Hospital?" Alan asked curiously. Both Alex and Snake ignored him, wrapped up in their dispute.

"So?" Alex retorted. "I don't even know your real name!"

Snake shrugged. "Doesn't change the fact that you're a difficult person to get to know," he replied. Alan watched in fascination. By now, Ben was aware of their conversation, his face creased, wondering whether to interrupt.

"So are you," Alex answered, glaring. "I'm not exactly going to bare my soul for someone I barely even know."

"You know Ben," Snake pointed out.

"And I talk to Ben," the spy responded immediately.

"Do you?" Snake asked, disbelief on his face.

Alex frowned. "Yes," he replied, his voice quieter. What point was the soldier trying to make? He did talk to Ben, didn't he?

"You don't seem to," Snake replied, looking at him closely. "Don't you think he knows you're having nightmares? Why don't you just admit it?"

Alex sent a betrayed glance to Ben. How many of the men had he talked to about him behind his back? His life was private and he had hoped Ben would have recognized that he wanted to keep it that way.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Alex said, standing up.

"You know exactly what I mean," Snake said, somewhat harshly. He might be a medic, but he was a tough one.

"No," Alex responded quietly, walking swiftly out of the room, "I don't."

He heard Ben call his name as he ascended the stairs but he didn't reply. Why did he ever think that Ben would be different? No one in his life was dependable. No one.

Apart from maybe Jack.

_(-her red hair swished round as she turned to face him. "Oh honey," she said softly. "There are bad people in this world." She took his hand, crouching down to look into his eyes. "But you'll always have me."_

_Alex, the fool that he was at that young age, believed her. "Always?" he mumbled, and she nodded. _

"_Forever," she replied-)_

* * *

Ben wheeled around to face Snake. "What did you do that for?" he demanded. Snake frowned.

"He can't carry on like he is," the Scott said evenly. The two other soldiers and Alan were watching keenly. It was rare for either of them to argue.

"Maybe," Ben acknowledged, "but you had no right to bring up things like that in front of everyone."

"I had every right," Snake argued. "He needs to start considering others."

"That's all he does, you idiot!" Ben snapped. "Shoving the fact that he is hurting others in his face isn't going to help at all. He's trying, why can't you see that?"

"That's him trying?" Snake scoffed. "Ben, come on," he beseeched, "you know he's just wallowing in self-pity."

"No," Ben hissed, "he's not. And if you knew anything about him you'd see that too!"

"Yeah, like I said," Snake argued, "he's impossible to actually get to know."

"Because, obviously," Ben retorted angrily, "he realises quite rightly that he shouldn't trust you."

Snake opened his mouth to reply, but Ben cut over him. "He is trying, the whole time," he carried on. "But he finds it difficult to trust anyone. Can you honestly blame him for that?"

Wolf placed a hand on Snake's shoulder when it seemed like he was going to snap back.

"Don't, Snake," he ordered him firmly. "We get it," he told Ben, "but you have to realise that you're going to have to keep pushing him. Letting him wallow in his room the whole time is not going to work."

"I know," Ben sighed, his anger deflating at Wolf's calm words. "But I don't want to take away that one freedom he has."

"Ben," Wolf said steadily, "we discussed the fact that he probably has PTSD. You know as well as I do what could happen if he carries on refusing to get help for it." Ben closed his eyes briefly, remembering the soldier he had known that had suffered terribly from the illness after a tour in Afghanistan. Unable to deal with the guilt and the pain, he had killed himself just weeks after returning to England.

"Yeah," Ben agreed. "But I don't know what to do . . ."

Ben had taken Alex to the psychiatrist again the day before, but it had had a similar result as last time. Alex had refused to talk and had ended up walking straight out of the session half-way through. Dr King had no idea why, and Ben had gone off to look for him, finding the teen resting against the car, looking bored. Alex wouldn't explain what had happened and had remained silent for the whole drive back. It was as if he had reverted back to the shell of the boy he had been during those first few days at the hospital, when he wouldn't even look any of them in the eye, too wrapped up in whatever he was seeing in his mind.

"Have you tried simply talking to him about it?" Alan asked thoughtfully. Ben started, having forgotten he was even there.

"He's as stubborn as anything," Ben explained. "Snake was right in that regard," he added, sending a small glare at the soldier so that he knew that he was still angry, "he won't tell us anything willingly."

"Have you tried?" Alan asked again, his piercing gaze drilling holes in Ben's head.

"I've asked about his nightmares," Ben replied, shrugging. "He won't say a thing."

"What about his home life?" Alan retorted. "I don't know anything about this boy but even I can tell he's obviously not got a good past."

"There's no way he'll tell us anything," Ben sighed.

"I don't know," Wolf said slowly. "He's said more to you than he has to Dr King. I reckon you've got a better chance than him, anyway."

"Exactly," Alan agreed. "Don't be so defeatist, Ben. I didn't raise you to be a pessimist, you know."

Ben looked exasperated. "I'm not a pessimist," he answered, having had the same argument with his father over and over. "I'm a realist."

"Whatever," Alan replied dismissively, and Ben wondered at how that word could sound so natural in a man that was far too old for it. "Point is, you seem to have given up before you've even begun."

"I haven't," he argued weakly. He was willing to do anything to help Alex.

"Then you better start showing it," his father said firmly.

"We knew it would be difficult when we took him in," Eagle added, unusually serious. "We just have to keep trying."

"I know," Ben responded wearily, "I'll try and talk to him." He headed upstairs, preparing for the conversation ahead of him. He knew full well that Alex's trust in him had been shattered when Snake revealed he'd mentioned his nightmares to them. It had only been in passing, and Ben had just been so worried. . . He hadn't meant for any of them to bring it up again, instead hoping that the soldiers would have the sense to keep the knowledge to themselves. Then again, Snake had always been a big believer in the whole 'you have to be cruel to be kind' idea.

He knocked lightly on Alex's closed bedroom door, hoping that he didn't have his earphones in again.

"Yes?" Alex's voice called out. Ben squared his shoulders.

"It's Ben," he answered. There was a slight pause, then Alex told him he could come in. Ben pushed open the door, unsurprised to find Alex sitting on his bed with his laptop open. He had no idea what the teenager was doing on the computer, but figured he didn't really need to worry about his safety online. It was unlikely that a top spy would endanger himself accidentally and Ben mentally ticked that one off his parenting 'to do' list.

"Hey," he greeted Alex, perching on top of his desk, aware that the spy could probably do with a bit of space after the confrontation downstairs with Snake. He had noticed that Alex became uneasy having people close to him after a stressful situation, another remnant of his torture.

Alex nodded back at him, clearly slightly wary.

"I'm sorry about Snake," Ben said softly. "He shouldn't have said those things."

Alex snorted slightly. "It's ok," he answered.

"It's not," Ben sighed, "you have every right to behave the way you do," he said gently. "We all understand, you know?"

Alex looked down, and Ben caught the unspoken, 'how can you?'

"Snake's just worried, really," Ben explained. "We all are. I don't like seeing you waste away like this."

"I'm not wasting away," Alex objected.

"You're not sleeping, you're hardly eating, you refuse to talk about anything that's remotely personal . . ." Ben said firmly, "You are. And I've lost people before because no one's seen what was happening, and I won't lose you."

"You're being ridiculous," Alex argued, pulling himself back so that he was leaning against the wall.

"I'm not," Ben replied, studying the teen in front of him carefully. Alex's closed off expression warned him to 'back off', but remembering Wolf's words, he pressed on.

"It's not uncommon, you know," he said, "for soldiers to have problems when they come back from the front lines. Most of the time these are healable, but that's only if they get help."

"I'm not a soldier," Alex retorted, clearly trying to pick out holes in his argument.

"No," Ben agreed, "But you are a spy. You've been through something that no one should have to deal with, and you need help, Alex." He folded his arms, trying to look firm. "There's no shame in asking for it, you know."

"I'm fine," Alex insisted, but Ben could see the tenseness in his body and knew that he was the furthest he could be from 'fine'.

"No," he replied gently, "you're not."

"I am!" he repeated, crossing his arms and drawing his knees up to his chest. Ben noticed the wince he gave at the movement, but the teen made no move to change position again.

"Alex," he tried again, "I know you're used to relying on yourself, but you don't have to anymore. Please," he begged slightly, "let me help."

"I don't need help," Alex responded stubbornly, turning his head away.

Ben slid off the desk and walked forwards so that he was standing next to Alex. The boy's head had turned back round as soon as he had moved and had tracked his progress across the room. Seeing Alex now focused on him, he crouched down, laying a hand of his bare arm. The flinch was almost unnoticeable, but Ben was close enough to catch it.

"Yes," he said softly, looking at Alex closely, "you do. You can say what you like, Alex, but we're all here to stay. No one will judge you, I promise."

Alex's breath hitched slightly, and he twisted his head away again.

"Ok?" Ben asked quietly.

"Yeah," came the almost inaudible reply. Ben smiled a small bit and backed up, giving the teenager the space he needed. Alex's acknowledgement was enough for that moment. Little battles.

"Lunch is in half an hour," he informed Alex gently, before turning on the spot and quietly leaving the room. He knew Alex would be down, if only because his sense of etiquette would tell him that it was rude to ignore a guest. The spy was unfailingly polite to people he didn't know well. Ben was happy to see that Alex was beginning to relax that around him. The rest would come slowly, but Ben had all the patience in the world.

* * *

_A/N: Small steps, still. Sorry for those who want more action, but I'm trying to make this realistic._

_About Ben's father knowing he works for MI6. It says on their's and MI5's website that you can tell one close family member. For Ben, who has no mother and who doesn't get on with his brother, he would tell his dad. When it comes to Ian. . . Well, we don't ever find out his reasons completely, but then, could you trust a young boy to keep that kind of secret? And to be honest, he doesn't really know Jack, so he wouldn't tell her._

_Yes, I know, Snake's a bit of a git in this. I figure that they're not all going to be completely kind and amazing out of Brecon Beacons, hence why Wolf is grumpy often and Snake is a little harsh . . . But, like Ben says, he genuinely does care._

_Please review and tell me what you think. Your response has been amazing so far :)_

_ForeverChasingDreams_


	9. Sun and Rain

_A/N: I know, I'm fantastic. Semi. I updated within a month or so (October, you say? Weird . . .) and even I'm surprised :D Very stressful time for me at the moment, but hey, it's nearly christmas, so I decided to write this instead of the million other things I'm supposed to be doing. Consider it an early xmas present!_

_By the way, chapters 1 and 2 have been edited - nothing has changed apart from a few tweakings and checking of grammar (which was appalling two years ago :o)_

_DISCLAIMER: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz_

* * *

_'When it hurts to look back and you're scared to look ahead, you can look beside you and your best friend will be there'_

_(Anonymous)_

"Ben?" Alex asked the next day. Snake was the only other person in the house and he was sprawled in front of the TV. The soldiers seemed to be incapable of amusing themselves without Sky Sports.

"Yeah?" Ben replied absently, unloading the dishwasher, the plates clinking as he piled them on top of each other.

"I want to go back to school," Alex said. He'd thought carefully about the decision, remembering the problems that had arisen when he'd last been there. Brooklands was a typical state school, and rumours were the most important form of knowledge there. There was a lot of gossip about him, even if he had Tom and a few other friends to help keep the worst away. But Alex found that he couldn't stand to be stuck in Ben's house for much longer with just the older spy and K-Unit for company the whole time. He was a teenager and a spy, and neither attribute made him good at being cooped up.

"Now?" Ben asked in surprise, twisting around to look at him.

Alex nodded firmly. "As soon as possible," he answered. "I've missed so much school already . . ."

"It's only been a few weeks, Alex," Ben said, a small frown playing on his face. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Alex responded. "I'm probably going to have to repeat a year as it is . . ." Alex sighed, considering how hard he was going to have to work to catch up with everyone. He really didn't want to stay back a year; it would only make the rumours worse. Hardly anyone did; the only person he knew who had dropped back was an anorexic girl in his year who had been in and out of hospital so much that she was hardly in school at all. The girl was scarily thin and horribly hurt; her mind so messed up that she had to starve herself to feel something. Alex had been a friend of hers, long ago, before all this started and before she started to torture her body in a way that no person should even consider. The similarities between the two of them were startling and scary. Both hurt, suffering and abandoned, thin and alone but too wrapped up in their own minds to get any help and too frightened to try. Except that Alex's pain was because of others' sadism and hers was the result of her own doing.

"How much school have you missed?" Ben asked in concern.

Alex pursed his lips. How to explain this to Ben without more fussing . . .?

"I work for MI6," he said simply at last. "I miss a fair bit."

"We could probably help, you know," Ben said slowly. "I studied French as well as politics at university."

"Thanks for the offer," Alex said, smiling slightly at him, "but I'm already fluent in French and I don't study politics." If only he did . . . He would pass that class without any study at all. After all, you can't spy without picking up on the politics that governed every situation.

"Well, Wolf did chemistry at uni and Snake has a biology degree, so they could help," Ben offered, not looking put out that his degree was slightly useless to Alex.

"Yeah," Alex said sarcastically, "I'm sure both of them would love to give up their free time to tutor me." He still hadn't spoken to Snake after the argument a couple of days ago, and Wolf was quite possibly the most antisocial person he'd ever met. That man hardly ever wanted to talk.

"You never know until you try," Ben said philosophically. "But I'll talk to Dr. Foster for you and if he clears it, I'll tell your school you're returning."

"Thanks," Alex responded, but told himself he was not going to ask the two SAS soldiers for help. He really didn't want to face their patronising faces when they were reminded just how young he was.

"But Alex," Ben said hesitantly before he could leave the kitchen again, "you might want to consider talking to Dr. King first."

Alex looked at him sharply. "Why?" he retorted. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Alex," Ben sighed, "I thought we reached an agreement on this."

Alex frowned mutinously. "No," he snapped, "you decided I needed a psychiatrist. I didn't."

Ben looked at him, eyebrows raised. Then, suddenly, his hand shot out and grabbed Alex's wrist. Alex flinched, automatically pulling away-

_(-pain and blood and fear and screams and falling falling-)_

- fighting the flashbacks as they flickered through his mind. Ben let go immediately, drawing back to lean against the sink. Alex breathed heavily, tugging his mind back under control whilst Ben watched with a sharp gaze.

"You can't go to school if you react like that every time someone touches you," Ben said softly, without apologising.

Alex turned his head away. "I- I don't know how to stop," he admitted quietly.

"Talk to someone," Ben advised earnestly. Alex looked down, unsure how to voice his thoughts. He _couldn__'__t_talk to Dr. King, knowing that the man was there to evaluate him, to peer into his mind and label him just because every person in this world had to have an identity. What if he didn't want to be labelled? What if he couldn't possibly bear to give voice to his deepest fears, his worst memories?

"You can talk to me, you know," Ben said gently. "It doesn't have to be Dr. King."

Alex thought about it. It would be better than talking to Dr. King, a stranger in every sense of the word, but he still had no desire to relate his experiences. He shook his head, looking down.

"I- I don't-" he began, attempting to put his hesitance into speech. He shrugged, unable to articulate the desperate panic he felt at remembering the events that had led him to where he was today.

"It's ok," Ben assured him. "Whenever you're ready."

Alex sighed to himself. He didn't think he would ever be ready. Ben had returned to putting the dishes away, humming to himself softly as he did it. Alex stood still for a few seconds, before slowly moving forward and grabbing a plate from the dishwasher. Ben turned, startled, and smiled at him. Neither spoke as they completed the soothing motions of going back and forth between the dishwasher and the cupboard. It felt strangely domestic, Alex mused, and his lips turned upwards as he realised Ben was humming the Scouting For Girls song, 'I wish I was James Bond'.

'_And I wish I was James Bond, just for the day, _

_Kissing all the girls, blow the bad guys away . . .'_

If only it was that easy.

"How sweet," Snake said sarcastically, leaning against the wall of the kitchen. Alex didn't jump, having seen him get up from the sofa, but Ben twisted round, surprised by the sudden voice. "It's like happy families."

"With a not so happy soldier," Alex muttered to himself.

"Here," Ben said, chucking the man the dust pan and brush. "Sweep the floor."

Snake frowned but did as he was asked. Alex wanted to laugh at the sight of the tough SAS soldier on his hands and knees brushing up all the dirt. It wasn't a usual sight.

"What are you grinning about?" Snake asked harshly. Alex raised his eyebrows; the man was definitely not in a good mood.

"Nothing," he answered smoothly, stacking the glasses in the cupboard. "What does your wife think of you spending the day over here?" Alex asked curiously, changing the subject quickly.

"I'm SAS," Snake responded, frowning. "She knows that sometimes I get crappy jobs that I have to do. She's ok with it."

"You describe this as a crappy job?" Alex asked in disbelief. Personally, he thought it would be a lot better than, say, Afghanistan.

"Being stuck all day with a snarky teenager and an overprotective spy? Yes," he said bluntly.

"Hey," Ben objected. "I am not overprotective."

Alex snorted at the same time as Snake, for once agreeing on something.

"You're worse than my mother was," Snake told him firmly. Alex listened curiously. Was? Snake wasn't that old . . .

"Considering your mother let you join the army at sixteen and then chucked you out when you tried to stay at home whilst on leave, that's not difficult," Ben replied wryly. Alex was startled slightly, wondering if Snake would object to having his personal life revealed in front of him. The soldier just grunted though.

"Fair point," he acknowledged, before glancing at Alex. "What about your mother?" he asked. "Where's she?"

Alex saw Ben glare at him briefly, annoyed at Snake's lack of tact. Alex shrugged.

"Dead," he replied simply. "As is my father."

"Sorry, Cub," Snake said in his heavy accent. "How long ago?"

"Never knew them," Alex said, his face blank. Ben was looking between them in faint concern. "I grew up with my uncle."

"Where's he, then?" Snake questioned, his eyebrows becoming closer and closer together.

"Dead as well." Alex crossed his arms, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going in.

Snake frowned, looking fairly startled at the news. "Christ, kid, do you have anyone?"

"Just Ben," Alex answered, glancing at the man in question.

Snake stayed quiet, his face thoughtful, before standing up and tipping the mess from the dust pan into the bin. Alex put the last cup away and turned to leave.

"Wait, Cub," Snake said suddenly. Alex looked back at him. He was standing there awkwardly, his face quite unsure.

"Yeah?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Snake held out his hand. "My name's Rob," he said simply. "Rob Davies."

Alex stared at him, considering his words. Finally, he took the man's hand. "Alex Rider," he told Snake. The man nodded, and no other speech was exchanged. Soldiers were men of little words, and all that had been needed to say had been said.

* * *

Later that day, after suffering a few awkward moments with Snake in the lounge, both unsure of how to act now they had formed some sort of peace, Alex closed the door to Ben's house behind him and breathed a sigh of relief. He lifted his face to the wind, revelling in the simple feeling of the air blowing against him. He'd managed to persuade Ben to let him go visit Tom, with only the smallest amount of emotional blackmail and manipulation used. He _was_a spy, after all. As a teen, he was used to having his own way, having never really dealt with a parent figure before. Ian had been scarcely present during his childhood and Jack had always been more like a sister-

_(-"Mrs Rider?" the teacher asked, glancing up at the tall redhead in front of her. _

"_God, no!" Jack laughed. "I'm just Jack. I look after Alex."-)_

- too young to truly bring him up like a parent would. Ben's overprotective nature was new to him, and it was beginning to get suffocating. Tom would be a welcome break, as annoyed as his friend would be at him for not having been in contact for weeks.

Tom's house wasn't far from Ben's, according to Google maps, and Alex was relying on his memory and sense of direction to get him there. He had no idea if Tom would even be in, of course, but he wanted to try. He wanted to feel that levity that only came from talking to someone his own age. To them, he was a teenager, not a spy, and he didn't have to constantly be reminded about the events that had happened only a few weeks ago. He could forget with Tom, and simply enjoy life.

"Alex?" he heard a voice ask. Glancing up at the aged face in front of him, he smiled softly. It had been far too long.

"Mrs Madon," he answered cheerfully. She didn't comment on his face or shaved hair or even his prolonged absence from his house.

"It's so nice to see you again," she said absentmindedly. She hefted the bag she was carrying further up her shoulder and Alex was sad to see yet more lines on her face. She aged more every time he saw her.

"You too," he replied warmly. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know me," she said, waving a hand in the air, "nothing keeps me down for long. Though I haven't seen Jack for a while."

Alex swallowed-

_(-her red hair glistened, the pool round her growing larger, dripping, dripping, dripping-)_

-but nodded. "Did she not get a chance to tell you?" he asked in fake surprise. "She had to move back to America very suddenly. Family problems, you know."

Mrs Madon frowned. "No, she didn't mention it," she responded. "Well, I don't think she did . . ."

"Hmm, I suppose she might not have, it was a complete rush," Alex said, making it all up on the spot. He couldn't tell Mrs Madon that Jack had died; the American had been one of the few people the elderly woman had left. Her family, if she even had anyone apart from her granddaughter Katrina, had never been seen to visit.

"Oh no," Mrs Madon said, biting her lip. "I so loved having Jack to talk to."

Alex smiled sadly. "Well, she might come back soon, you never know."

"I hope so," the woman replied, before hauling her bag back up again. "Where have you been staying then?"

"A family friend's house," he answered smoothly, before reaching out to take her bag. "Here," he said, "let me carry that for you."

"Thanks," she smiled. "It was getting rather heavy."

Alex's lips lifted up in return as they proceeded to wander down the streets, his heart clenching every time he saw something he remembered. He hadn't been going to go near his old house, planning on taking a different, new, route, but he couldn't leave the poor woman alone. She had so few people in her life; he couldn't deny her his company.

"If you ever need anywhere to stay," Mrs Madon said gently, out of the blue, "you're always welcome at my house."

"Thanks," Alex said genuinely. "I'll keep that in mind." How could anyone not want to spend time with this lonely, sweet, old woman?

"Well, this is me," she said, taking the bag off of him and placing it on the doorstep. Alex had firmly not allowed himself to look past her house to his, telling his mind sternly that it was a building, it wasn't important.

"I'll see you again soon," Alex said, squeezing her arm in a comforting manner.

"You'd better," she said absently. Then, her normal, wandering, eyes focused on his face. Her wrinkled face softened and she reached out a trembling hand, her arthritis easily spotted. He stood still, his shoulders tense, as she lightly touched his scarred face. It was the most lucid he had ever seen her, and he closed his eyes briefly. There was something about her that just screamed, 'safe', and he didn't even flinch when she stepped forward into his personal space. He stared at her worn face and weary eyes, and felt water prickling his eyes. Pushing the tears down, he looked at her intense expression. She smiled slightly and removed her cold hand from his cheek.

"Take care of yourself," she said quietly, and stepped away.

"I will," he answered and watched as she fumbled for her keys and walked inside her house, shutting the door behind her with a small wave. He couldn't shake the feeling that somehow it was a goodbye she was saying. Dismissing the thoughts as ridiculous, he turned down the road, in the opposite direction of his house, and walked away. He refused to look back.

It only took him a few minutes more to reach Tom's house; he knew the way well from his old house. Knocking on the door, he stepped back a bit. His heart hammered in his chest and he told himself to stop being stupid. Tom was his oldest friend.

"Hi," he said, smiling weakly at the man who opened the door. He didn't recognize him, and for one terrifying minute he wondered if Tom had moved. "I'm looking for Tom Harris? I'm a friend of his."

The man frowned, but called "Tom!" behind him. "I'm Phil," he said, and held out a hand to Alex. Alex shook it firmly, still confused about who the man was.

"Alex," he replied.

"Nice to meet you," Phil said, looking anything but happy. "Tom!" he yelled again, and Alex distantly heard an answer from the house. "I'm Tom's step-dad," he explained to Alex.

That made sense. "Right," Alex responded, somewhat awkwardly. "I didn't know Tom's mum had gotten married."

"About a month ago," Phil said, looking uninterested. "I haven't seen you before, have I?"

"No," Alex agreed, wondering about this strange man who didn't seem to care about his marriage or his step-son, or anything really. "I've . . . been away for a while."

"Hmm," Phil said, looking behind him. "Finally, Tom," he snapped. "I've been waiting forever."

Alex's eyebrows rose. That was a slightly rude comment.

"Sorry," Alex heard a voice respond, sounding completely insincere. "Got distracted."

"I'm sure," Phil replied sarcastically. "Don't be late home if you go out." With that, he turned back inside the hall, without so much as saying goodbye to Alex, and the spy managed to see his close friend at last.

Tom had grown; that was immediately apparent. But it was the smaller, more subtle differences that Alex registered with surprise. Faint tufts of hair were growing on his upper lip and cheeks: the beginnings of facial hair that had definitely not been there before. Blue rings were visible under his eyes and Alex was saddened to think of what might have caused those tired smudges.

"Alex?" Tom said in shock. Alex grinned slightly; all the worrying observations that had just shown how much time had passed were forgotten. This was his best friend – time apart made no difference on their friendship.

"Hey," he replied, relieved beyond measure that he was now – finally – home, and was speaking to his friend once again.

"What the hell happened to you?" Tom snapped. "Where the hell have you been?" Tom didn't look overjoyed to see him.

Alex winced. He had forgotten that Tom might be a bit annoyed about him and Jack disappearing for months. "It's kind of a long story . . .," he answered, looking down.

_(-where was he? What was happening? More pain, blood, pain, pain, pain-)_

"I'm listening," Tom said, folding his arms.

"Can we go somewhere else? I'd rather not have anyone listening."

"The let's go to yours," Tom responded immediately. Alex winced again.

"That wouldn't be a good idea," he said slowly. Tom raised his eyebrows. "It's part of the stuff I need to tell you," Alex explained hastily.

"Hmm." Tom just looked at him for a while. He had gotten so cynical, Alex realised. The Tom he knew had been fun-loving and fiercely happy to be alive. This Tom was more serious.

"I guess you'd better come upstairs then," Tom said eventually. It wasn't the ideal place to hold such a conversation, but Alex knew there was nowhere else to do it really. He followed his friend to his room, glad he didn't bump into Phil or Tom's mother – Jacqui.

Tom gestured for him to sit on his bed as he shut the door and turned his music on loud. Alex's lips twitched upwards as he realised that Tom was still listening to the same – rubbish – music as before.

"I see your music taste hasn't improved," Alex said wryly.

"I see your face hasn't either," Tom shot back. "Where'd the scar come from?" His hard expression was softening slightly as the time passed and Alex thanked every god he could think of that Tom had always been incapable of holding a grudge.

"I-" he began, then stopped. How could he sum up the horrific events of the last few months in a few sentences? Tom said nothing.

"You know Scorpia?" he asked Tom at last. The boy nodded, obviously recalling the time Alex had narrated part of the events of Invisible Sword to him.

"Well, they decided that they didn't want me alive any longer," he explained, "so they sent people to kill Jack and kidnap me."

"God," Tom said suddenly, his face paling. "Is Jack-?"

Alex blanked his face, forcibly pushing the flashbacks out of his mind. "They succeeded," he said heavily.

"Jesus," Tom muttered slowly, shutting his eyes. Alex knew that Jack had been almost a surrogate mother to him, since his parents had been too busy fighting to take any notice.

"I'm sorry," Alex murmured quietly, his heart breaking for his friend. He had had time to deal-

_(-her body lay draped on the floor, red pooling around her as her skin faded to pale white-)_

-but Tom had only just found out.

Tom took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. Alex looked down, unwilling to see his grief reflected in the eyes of his friend.

"What happened then?" Tom asked, with what seemed like supreme effort.

"I- I was taken to one of their facilities," he began, closing his mind firmly to the flashbacks filtering behind his eyes, "where I was kept for a couple of months or so. The SAS managed to rescue me and I was taken to hospital. I was discharged just over a week ago."

Tom frowned, his eyes still red. "Where are you staying?" he questioned, his voice subdued. "If Jack's. . ."

"With an agent I've worked with before," Alex replied casually, relaxing his body posture now that they had moved onto safer topics. He leaned back against the blue wall of Tom's bedroom and examined his friend. He wondered why he looked so exhausted.

"You could stay here, you know," Tom said quietly. "Dad's moved out so they're not arguing anymore . . ."

Alex smiled slightly and shrugged. "MI6 wouldn't be happy," he replied. "I need the protection of another agent, just in case." Tom frowned, opening his mouth to say something. "Anyway," Alex hurried on, not wanting to discuss Scorpia for any longer, "who's Phil and how come I've never heard of him?"

"He's Mum's husband," Tom's lip curled as he spoke. "They got married a month ago, but you've never heard of him because Mum didn't tell me they were even seeing each other until a month before the wedding."

Alex nodded, picking up the tension in Tom's tone. "You don't like him?"

"I don't know him," Tom said shortly. "And he's made no effort to change that."

"That sucks," Alex responded sympathetically, patting his friend lightly on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Tom sighed, "but at least the arguing has stopped." He got up off the bed for a brief time to change the song. Alex couldn't tell the difference; they were all a load of banging and screaming in his opinion. When he sat down again, they stayed in silence for a few seconds.

"How about we just go to the park?" Tom suggested at last. Alex smiled; he'd missed the long lazy days of football and girls and messing around.

"Sounds good," he responded, standing up and hitching up his jeans from where they were starting to slip down. As he did so, his t-shirt rid up to display some of the many scars on his body. Alex turned away quickly, hoping Tom hadn't seen, but he had.

"Those recent?" he asked quietly, not making any move to look at them again. Alex guessed he had become accustomed to his scars over time.

Alex nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Most, anyway."

"I'm sorry." Tom's gaze was sad and piercing.

Alex shook his head, willing away the painful memories and wishing for the comfortable atmosphere of a few minutes ago back. "They don't hurt anymore," he said in reassurance.

"Let's just go and play footie and forget about our crappy lives, hey?" Tom said, a forced smile on his face.

"Good idea." Alex punched his arm gently. "Guess it's time for you to get beaten, then."

"Hey!" Tom protested. "That hurt!" He rubbed his arm, pouting slightly.

"I notice you didn't deny the fact that I'm going to completely slaughter you," Alex responded grinning. It had been too long since he'd engaged in such friendly banter.

"Whatever," Tom replied. "We both know who's better looking, anyway."

"Glad to see you're acknowledging my sexiness," Alex said smugly.

"Hey- What?"

Alex laughed as they wandered out of the house and down to the park, arguing jokingly all the way. It felt like the sun was shining down on him at last, and he soaked up its warm rays.

Then, in a typical English fashion, the heavens opened.

"Crap!" Tom squealed as they ran for cover. Hidden under a tree, they laughed hysterically as they squeezed out their wet clothes.

"Don't you just love England?" Tom asked rhetorically.

Looking out from under the branches, watching people wander past with their umbrellas up and their scarves wrapped tight around their necks, Alex thought that he really, really did.

* * *

_A/N: Yes, you can probably tell I'm British by the end of this. . . 3 England :D All those English people out there, I bet you know what I'm talking about when I write about the bloody weather . . . I can just see you nodding along to this, because it's so true! All it does is rain *pouts*_

_Also, I mean no offence with the inclusion of the anorexia anecdote. This is based off a girl I know personally, and I just wanted to put it in to raise awareness for this horrible eating disorder. It's horrific, and so scarily common. My thoughts are with anyone who is suffering from any eating disorder._

_Please review,_

_ForeverChasingDreams_


	10. Faith

_Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider; it all belongs to Anthony Horowitz_

* * *

_'Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts'_

_(Sir Winston Churchill)_

"I'm going out with Tom, alright?" Alex called to Ben. Ben glanced up from the pile of papers he was pouring over.

"Sure," he said absently, waving a hand as if to say 'go on'. "What time will you be back?"

Alex shrugged, peering at the writing on the paper. Quick as a flash, Ben pulled them away and out of sight. Alex smirked, happy that he'd annoyed the spy a little. "Wouldn't have thought we'd be too long; we're only going to the park," he replied finally.

"Which park?"

"Christ, Ben, I don't know," Alex said exasperatedly. "I'm sixteen; I somehow think I can manage to get to and from the park by myself." He glanced at the time on his phone – a gift from Ben – and saw that Tom would be waiting for him.

Ben chewed his bottom lip, suddenly realising what he had been agreeing to and only just weighing up the risks. "It's not you getting lost I'm worried about, Alex, and you know it." He looked hard at the teenager until Alex dropped his gaze slightly.

"I know," Alex sighed. "But if they know whereabouts I am, surely they would've have attacked by now?" The disturbing threat of Menarc had been hanging over all their heads ever since Alex had been rescued, and was the reason behind the constant soldier presence at the house. At the moment, Eagle was outside keeping watch. Snake was somewhere upstairs.

"Not with all the protections around the house," Ben snapped back. "I know you want to get out, I really do, but I don't think it's safe. For you _or _your friend."

Alex winced; the remark had hit home just as Ben had known it would.

_(-"Jack! Oh God, Jack!"-)_

Alex breathed raggedly and turned his head away. Ben gently and slowly placed a hand on his arm. "Sorry," the older man murmured.

Alex shook his head and got himself under control. It had been _months_, he shouldn't still be acting like this. _Get a hold of yourself, _a little voice whispered cruelly in his head. "I need this," Alex said quietly, hating that he had to resort to begging. And it was true; he was going mad being stuck indoors all the time. "Besides, you let me out before."

Ben winced, as if he had been hoping that Alex wouldn't bring that up. "Things have changed," he said reluctantly.

"What's changed?" Alex asked immediately, forgetting about Tom for that moment and trying to quell his racing heart. Changes in the Menarc situation were not good, in general.

Ben said nothing for a second, then ran his hand through his hair. "It's nothing, Alex, I promise." Alex raised his eyes sceptically. "I'm just not comfortable with you going out by yourself, when I don't know where you're going."

"Ben-" Alex started, ready to give him hell for keeping things from him, but the spy interrupted.

"You can go out if you take Eagle with you," he said firmly, with a hard glint in his eye which persuaded Alex that now was not the best time to test Ben's patience.

"Fine," Alex huffed, but resolved to pester the man later. Ben smiled slightly to himself; a week or so ago, Alex would never have trusted him enough to not demand answers. He would have been too fearful that people were conspiring against him.

"Go and find Eagle," Ben told him, trusting the boy to actually do it and not sneak out. "I'll see you later, alright? And take your phone."

"Ok," Alex agreed, feeling marginally happier now the prospect of going outside was looming closer. The thought of ignoring Ben's orders occurred to him, but he really wasn't in the mood for a fight. He muttered a goodbye to Ben and wandered out of the kitchen door into the hallway. The door outside was at one end of the corridor and the lounge lay at the opposite end, with the walls lining the distance displaying generic but attractive photos. Alex walked down the corridor and grabbed his shoes from where they were lying on the wooden shoe rack. Slipping them on, he left from the house, absently patting his pocket to ensure he still had his phone. He may be a spy, but he was definitely a teenager too.

The front garden was typical of London suburbs. Only twenty minutes from central London, Ben's house had a small area of grass and a paved driveway, which was copied all down the quiet road. Listening hard, Alex guessed Eagle was around the side of the house, down the small path that ran next to the fence separating the two houses.

"Eagle!" Alex called, deciding that it was far too much effort to go and track him down. He'd known Eagle for the same amount of time as Wolf and Snake, but he already felt that he knew the man better than the rest. The soldier was almost childlike at times, and was the most easygoing of them all. That's not to say Eagle didn't have issues – clearly they all did – and Alex had heard him on occasion, calling out in his sleep. The fact hadn't escaped Alex that there must be a reason all three weren't out on assignment.

"Yeah?" Eagle's face appeared around the corner of the house.

"Ben wants you to come and spy on me while I meet Tom," Alex replied flippantly, his disdain for Ben's precautions clear on his face. He understood Ben's worry, he really did, but the older spy didn't get that Alex had been fighting for a long time, and he never had back-up. He hadn't been killed yet.

_(-"Luck of the devil, you have, Rider,"-)_

"What?" Eagle complained, his face twisting in feigned disgust. "He's the spy, not me. I don't _do _spying."

Alex laughed slightly. "Tough luck, come on."

"Why would I want to spend time with your bloody friends?"

Alex swatted the smirking man around the head and walked out of the driveway. After a moment of consideration, he turned left. Although he knew the general area, as he used to live not too far away, he was unfamiliar with the exact routes from Ben's house.

"What are you doing with Tom, anyway?" Eagle asked after a moment of walking. Alex turned his head towards him marginally and shrugged.

"Football,"

"Ooh, it's been ages since I've played football," Eagle commented enthusiastically. "Can I join in?"

Alex felt his eyebrows lift in surprise. He, Eagle, and Tom playing football. Interesting idea, he thought, but potentially problematic. No matter how relaxed Eagle was, he was still a soldier, and he wasn't sure he wanted the man mixing with Tom any more than he had to. Tom was already too far into his world, and damaged by it just as Alex was. Alex didn't want Tom to fall any deeper.

Luckily, Eagle didn't seem to need an answer. He immediately started regaling Alex with stories of his days playing for a local team, which apparently provided him with the fitness levels he needed to get into the army.

"Football taught me so much," he said in misty voice. "I don't know where I'd be without it. I should go visit my old coach one of these days; he'd be shocked if he saw me now."

Alex let him carry on, keeping his sarcastic remarks about the soldier's sentimentality to himself. Instead he focused on the road in front of him, keeping an eye on the changing scenery and the increase in cars on the roads. Tom lived slightly closer to central London than Ben, and it was therefore busier.

He startled slightly when he felt a buzz in his pocket, but took out his phone. He'd given his new number to Tom the last time he'd seen him, so he presumed the text was from him.

_-Hurry up mate._

Alex looked at the time and frowned when he realised he was ten minutes late. Eagle's ramblings cut through his thoughts for a second,

"But then, I thought, do I really want to spend my life doing this? So I-"

but he soon tuned him out. The man was perfectly capable of keeping himself amused.

_-Sorry! _He texted back. _On my way with bird in tow._

He could just picture Tom's face when he received that cryptic text. Sure enough, his phone buzzed again just seconds later.

_-Bird? Ur mental. _

Alex grinned, and texted:

_-Will explain when I get there._

_-Alright . . . Meet at the Rec? Probs quicker than waitin get 2 mine._

"Cub?" Eagle asked suddenly. "You listening to me?"

Alex nodded quickly. "Yeah, course I am,"

"Good, 'cause you know, this sort of stuff is really important for you to know when it comes to getting a job later on,"

Alex stared at the man. Getting a job? Did he not realise that his life was mapped out for him from beginning to end? The chances of him even reaching thirty were tiny.

"Right, yeah," he said absently, and turned back to his phone.

_-Sure, good idea. See u there._

"By the way," he said suddenly, interrupting Eagle completely. "It's probably better if you call me Alex in public. Cub sounds a bit," he hesitated, "odd."

"Odd?" Eagle proclaimed dramatically. "What's so wrong about having a nickname for my little nephew?" He reached out to ruffle Alex's hair but the spy ducked away quickly.

"You are _not _my uncle."

"Well, I'm definitely not your brother," Eagle said, gesturing to his face and hair. It was true, there was no way near enough facial resemblance to allow them to pass as blood relatives.

Alex scowled. "Fine. uncle it is."

"Which means I can have a cute nickname for my little Cubby here," Eagle smiled happily.

Alex swatted him, but said, "Well, I can't call you Eagle, can I? Even if you call me Cub."

"But telling you my name ruins my air of mystery," Eagle said in fake misery. "How am I supposed to attract girls if I'm not mysterious?"

Alex stared at him. "Seriously? You, attract girls?"

"Hey!"

"Anyway," Alex continued quickly, "I already know your name." He stuck his tongue out at the man, then realised how childish that was and frowned. What was it about Eagle that brought out all his childlike instincts?

"You- What?" Eagle asked in surprise. His face darkened. "Ben . . ." he muttered to himself. "Oh, you're in trouble."

Alex rolled his eyes. "You're such a child," he told the man, conveniently forgetting his actions a couple of seconds ago. "It wasn't even Ben who told me, it was Alan. He called you Matt."

"Goddamnit." Eagle frowned. He looked to Alex as if he might start pouting at any second.

* * *

"We're here," Alex announced a second later, and Eagle looked up. 'Here' was a grassy park with a small playground at one end containing squealing toddlers, and a concrete tennis court at the other. A couple of threadbare goals were set up in the area in between. The park wasn't huge – it was in central London after all – but it was a semblance of normality for Alex, and a reminder of his previous life. He'd spent many happy hours at the Rec with Tom, back when his uncle was just an eccentric, absent banker and his main worry was his homework. Seeing Eagle examining the park curiously jolted him back to reality, and forced him to face the fact that his two worlds were about to collide in a teen and soldier shaped explosion.

"So this is where you play," Eagle said in interest, as they walked through the gate and across the field.

"Sometimes," Alex shrugged. "This is the Rec, but it's busy at weekends so we often go to the green a few minutes away. Or there's the field nearer to Tom's house."

At that moment, Alex spotted Tom waving at him from beside a goal. It was frequently necessary to 'bagsie' a goal because so many teenagers used the park. It was rare to get two goals, and sure enough, Tom had had to set up a makeshift goal a short distance away using his rucksack and hoodie, in preparation for their game.

"Alex!" Tom called as soon as they were within hearing distance. "How's it going?"

Alex smiled and waved. "I'm alright thanks," he replied loudly. "You?"

"Never better!"

"Your friend's cheerful," Eagle said quietly to Alex, his forehead creased. No doubt he was comparing Tom to Alex's normal behaviour.

"Why shouldn't he be?" Alex retorted, reminding the man of the differences in Tom's and his recent experiences. Eagle winced, almost unnoticeably.

"Who's this?" Tom asked curiously when they got closer. Eagle stayed a couple of feet away. Alex dumped his bag by the goal post.

"This is Eagle - sorry, Matt," he replied, jerking his head in the soldier's direction. "He's my 'protection' for today." There was subtle bitterness in his voice which Tom immediately picked up on.

"I remember that name," Tom said mildly. "Wasn't he one of the gits from hell?"

Alex snorted whilst Eagle stood by, confused. "Yeah Tom, he's one of those." Just because he got on relatively well with Eagle didn't mean he didn't still resent him for Brecon Beacons. He may have been the only one to show any signs of kindness, having helped him out of the mud once, but he was still a bastard.

"Oh," Tom said, and turned away to grab the football he'd brought. To anyone else, Tom would seem completely normal. Alex however, knew him too well.

He grabbed Tom's arm. "Don't do anything, alright?" he said in a low voice so Eagle couldn't hear. "He's not too bad, and Ben won't let me come out if none of them will come with me."

"Since when do you care what someone says you can or can't do?" Tom asked in a harsh whisper. "Even with Jack, you'd disobey her if she was unreasonable."

_(-"You're not going out tonight, Alex, and that's final!"_

"_But come on! It's Friday!"_

"_No, no, no!"-)_

"Ben has a point, you know?" Alex admitted. "I don't want to see you hurt."

"You've changed," Tom said, looking at him closely. "You're more . . . serious, now."

"I've had to be,"

Tom reached out and placed his hand on his shoulder gently. The display of affection made Alex blink rapidly and turn his head away. What was it about physical contact that stripped him of his defences?

_(-"Don't you see, Rider? When you're tied up, you're completely at my mercy," he whispered, trailing a hand over Alex's cheek. "I can do," he continued, "whatever I like." His hand suddenly drew away and slapped Alex hard, making his head whip to the side-)_

"We getting started then?" Eagle asked, jogging on the spot slightly to warm up. Alex shakily moved away from Tom and his friend picked up the ball.

"Are you playing?" Tom asked Eagle mildly, and Alex was relieved to see that any immediate forms of revenge seemed to have been put out of Tom's mind.

"Yeah, he is" Alex answered for Eagle with a sigh, and whacked the ball back to Tom when it came towards him. Eagle's brief smile of thanks in his direction went unacknowledged but not unnoticed by the spy. Apparently, Eagle was a bit more perceptive than he'd given him credit for.

They passed the ball around between them for a short while, just warming up on the spot, until Tom offered to go in goal.

"How are we doing this?" Eagle asked, looking at the two goals at either end curiously, probably wondering how they were going to make two teams out of three players.

"Just use one goal to start off with, I guess," Alex shrugged. "One person in goal, the other two compete against each other to score." There was no need to confer with Tom, the boys had been playing football all their lives and making do with few players was second nature.

"What's the other goal for then?" Eagle inquired.

"In case anyone else turns up," Tom answered casually, kicking the ball out to Alex as he went and stood in the proper goal they'd managed to save.

Alex grabbed the ball and dribbled it away from Eagle, towards the goal. Eagle immediately gave chase.

"Are we expecting anyone then?" he said, puffing slightly as he chased the younger spy.

"Nope," Alex replied, "but there are no other goals free so someone might want to join up with us." He neared the goal and Tom shifted on his feet in preparation. He kicked it along the ground into the goal, but Eagle intercepted it and dribbled it away.

"Ha!" the soldier cried in jubilation, but Alex was already bearing down on him.

"Come on Alex!" Tom whooped as Alex tackled the older man and gained possession again. The soldier swore and gave chase again as Alex ran towards the goal. He had a split second to aim before he whacked it and scored.

"Yes!" he shouted happily. Tom quickly grabbed the ball and threw it back into play.

"Alex one, Matt, nil," the teen announced and watched the two battle it out again.

* * *

Five minutes into play, Alex was beginning to tire. Matt was now in goal and Tom had already scored twice. The long weeks of captivity had sapped him of his original fitness and this was the first proper exercise he had done since.

"Come on slowcoach," Tom goaded as he danced with the ball a few metres away from Alex. Never able to resist a challenge, Alex ran towards him, scarcely noticing the throbbing in his leg from the deep muscle knife wound. It had already healed, but he was still having physio on it. Come to think of it, this was probably the exact type of exercise his physiotherapist told him to avoid. The muscle had been damaged around the wound, due to the deep puncture the knife had originally made in his thigh, before being dragged down his leg at a slightly shallower depth.

"Don't get too cocky," Alex replied as he kicked the ball away from Tom and dribbled it towards the goal. He grinned at his friend, who soon came to his senses and ran after him.

At that moment, two things happened: Alex's leg gave a particularly strong throb and he winced, noticed immediately by Eagle, and three teens around their age came over to them.

"Hey!" One of them called to Tom. "How's it going?"

Tom smiled back while Eagle and Alex stayed in the background, neither of them knowing the new arrivals. "Hey guys," Tom replied warmly. "Wanna join?"

Alex jumped as Eagle, unbeknownst to him, walked up behind him and said quietly in his ear, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he said softly, trying to ignore the pain in his leg.

"Alex," Tom was saying, "this is Jed, Andy and Josh," Alex nodded absently, paying very little attention to the conversation. "Guys, this is Alex and Matt. Alex goes to Brooklands too."

"You do?" One of the teens – Jed, he thought – asked. "Haven't seen you around." Well, Alex thought, he hadn't seen him either. Probably new.

"I've been away for a few months," Alex replied casually. "You go there?"

"Yeah, I just moved. These guys," he gestured to the two other boys, "go to my old school, King's. We've been playing footie with Tom a few times recently, since we all live round here."

Alex nodded, pushing down the faint feeling of jealousy and telling himself that Tom deserved to have the normal life that he so craved. As Tom chatted with the teens, Eagle placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Don't think I haven't noticed the winces, Alex," he continued their conversation in a whisper. "What's wrong?"

Alex briefly considered lying, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. "Leg," he answered shortly.

"Your old injury?"

"Yeah,"

"How badly?" Eagle asked in concern. Neither of them paid any attention to Tom's conversation, although both laughed along with the others when it was appropriate.

"I can deal with it," Alex said, shrugging. Eagle opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted.

"So who's the adult, then?" One of the boys asked, catching both Alex and Eagle's attention.

Eagle laughed; only Alex could recognize that it was fake. He supposed acting was a reasonable skill to have in the SAS. "I'm Alex's uncle," Eagle replied, ruffling Alex's hair. Alex pushed him away, glaring playfully.

"I haven't seen him for a while," Alex said, "and he wanted to tag along. I felt mean saying no."

"Hey!" Eagle gently whacked Alex around the head. "You make me sound pathetic!"

"That's because you are," Alex said, smirking slightly. The other teenagers laughed along with him when Eagle pouted.

"So, shall we play three on three?" Tom asked, picking up the ball. Everyone nodded.

"Sure," Jed said, who seemed to have been nominated as spokesperson for the group of boys. "Us lot against you three?"

"Sounds good," replied Tom. Alex and Eagle signalled their agreement "Your turn in goal, Alex."

"Ok," Alex walked to the goal, secretly happy that he wasn't going to have to run around and strain his leg wound further. By Eagle's look of relief, he liked the arrangement too.

* * *

They played for a few minutes before swapping goal keepers to try and keep it fair. So far, the other boys were winning, but it was a close game. Eagle wasn't the best at football, but he had the strength and stamina.

"Pass, Alex!" Tom called across the field to him. Alex dribbled away from Josh who was marking him and kicked the ball to his friend. It got there without being intercepted and Alex started running towards their goal, ready for Tom to pass it in to him so he could shoot. He was nearly there when his injured leg screamed in pain and buckled beneath him. It was like watching himself in slow motion as he fell to the floor, landing awkwardly on his leg. He cried out slightly, breathing heavily. Evidently, his torn muscles had had enough of the rigorous exercise.

"Alex!" he heard Tom cry, abandoning the football and running towards him. He knew that Eagle was probably doing the same behind him. He shifted slowly, painfully, drawing his leg out in front of his body and trying to breathe through the throbbing pain. Ben was going to _murder _him. He'd told Ben the physio had said it was fine to play football, thinking that Ben would never find out about the small white lie.

"What happened?" he heard one of the other boys asking. He was ignored.

"Alex?" Tom asked in concern when he reached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he rasped. "Old injury." He ran his hand along his thigh, wincing when he felt the heat there. Damn. Nevertheless, he gathered his other leg under him and tried to heave himself to his feet. Tom, catching on to what he was trying to do, put an arm around his waist, and took some of his weight. By the time Eagle arrived next to them, Alex was standing, albeit without putting his injured leg on the ground.

"Alex," he said, his voice concerned but harsh. "You shouldn't have kept playing." The soldier placed one of Alex's arms around his shoulder, helping Tom out.

"What's going on?" Jed asked again.

"I aggravated an old injury," Alex said dismissively, confident now that his voice was even. "Sorry, I think we're going to have to go home."

"No worries," the boy said, compassion in his eyes. "Hope it all heals, yeah?"

"Thanks," Alex nodded, and Tom also said his goodbyes. One of the boys – Andy – handed Tom their bags and hoodies, before all three headed off in another direction.

"Can you walk home?" Eagle asked, his eyes running up and down Alex's body, evaluating the extent of his pain.

"I think so," Alex answered. The red hot throbbing that originated in his thigh was spreading to the rest of his leg, but he was damned if he was going to admit that. He'd had worse; he could make it home. He took a step forwards, still leaning on Eagle and Tom, and cried out when he put his injured leg down. He started to fall again, but was caught by the two either side of him.

"Jesus, Alex," Tom said, frustration mixing with concern. "Admit when you need help, will you?"

"I don't think putting weight on that leg is a good idea, Cub," Eagle said seriously, pulling out his phone.

"No shit, Sherlock," Alex muttered, shifting so that he was resting on Tom and Eagle could use his phone.

"If you can manage to somehow hop over to the road, I'll get Ben to come and pick us up." Eagle said thoughtfully. He pulled away from the two teenagers slightly to talk to Ben. Tom and Alex stood in silence.

Minutes later, he was back. "Ben's on his way," he announced, helping support Alex again. "We'll take most of your weight, Alex, so just try not to put that leg on the ground, ok?"

Alex nodded, taking a deep breath. Between the three of them, he made it over to the bench by the gate of the fence and collapsed on it, his face ashen. Football had been a really, really, bad idea. He groaned to himself. Ben was never going to let him out again.

"Ben will be here soon," Eagle tried to comfort him, standing as if on guard next to the bench. Tom was slouching in a very similar fashion to Alex on the other end of the bench, worn out from helping Alex. The teen was not cut out for weight-lifting.

"You're a heavy lump, Alex," Tom was complaining, shaking out his arm muscles. Alex smiled exhaustedly, not being able to think coherently through the pain attacking his leg. God, he just wanted some painkillers. He'd left them behind on his desk because he'd been weaning himself off them for the last few weeks. He hated being dependent on anything, even if it meant he could function better. He'd finished the course of antibiotics he'd been given by the hospital, so Ben really couldn't force him to take the painkillers. They weren't necessary, just helpful.

"He's underweight," Eagle pointed out to Tom, smirking with amusement at the teen's distress.

"He's very heavily underweight then," Tom retorted, laughing at his joke. Eagle groaned.

"Awful", he said, "completely awful."

At that moment, a car horn sounded just outside the gate of the park and a car pulled up on the pavement.

"That'll be Ben," Eagle commented, and Tom got to his feet. Alex mentally prepared himself for the movement he knew was coming.

Sure enough, Ben got out from the driver's seat of the car and ran over to them. His face was pale and worried. "Are you alright, Alex?" he asked quickly.

Alex nodded, knowing that Ben wouldn't believe it.

"Come on then, time to go," Eagle declared, putting his arm around Alex's waist and gently hoisting him off the bench. Alex wobbled slightly, his injured leg carefully off the ground to prevent any pressure on it. Ben went to the other side of Alex and grabbed his arm, taking Tom's place. The teen stood in the background, watching in concern.

"Can you make your way home from here alright?" Ben asked Tom. Tom nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, "text me, ok, Alex?"

Alex agreed, though he knew he was likely to forget. At that moment, all he wanted to do was go home, take a painkiller (or two), and sleep.

Eagle and Ben managed to help him hop to the car and carefully positioned him on the back seat of the car, so that his injured leg was resting on the adjacent seat. Dimly, Alex was aware of Ben leaning over him to do up his seatbelt, and of Tom saying goodbye, but he was no longer concentrating. His mind was drifting away to escape the pain and he welcomed the relief.

It felt like only seconds later when he was drawn back to reality by Ben saying his name again and again, in an attempt to rouse him.

"Kay, Ben, I can hear you," he mumbled in exhaustion.

"Good," Ben said briskly, undoing his seatbelt and gently tugging him out of the car. Alex nearly fell over but was swiftly caught by Eagle on the other side.

"Drugs, then bed, I think," he heard Ben say to Eagle. The soldier nodded and they half carried Alex into the house.

"Shall we get Snake?"

"He's already waiting for us with painkillers," Ben replied, shaking his head. "I told him where I was going before I left."

Distantly, Alex felt stirrings of annoyance at all the fuss they were making. His leg would heal, he knew that, he'd just strained the already damaged muscle - though if he'd torn open the wound again, Ben would kill him. That would take a while to knit together again, and would probably mean more stitches. Lovely.

He woke up a bit more when Ben shifted his weight onto Eagle completely to open the door, and managed to mumble, "m'allright"

"Course you are," Eagle muttered. "Think you can manage the stairs?"

But he'd already started drifting off again; the pain had almost completely wiped him out.

"C'mon, Alex, in we go," Ben was saying, somehow back at his side. They hauled him into the hallway and he went along compliantly. He was somewhat aware of them pausing at the foot of the stairs.

"We can't get him out without putting weight on that leg or knocking it," Eagle said.

Ben hummed in agreement, and there was silence for a couple of seconds.

"I can carry him," Eagle offered.

"You sure?" Ben asked.

"Yeah," Eagle replied, and Ben shifted his weight completely onto Eagle. Alex's head spun as he was picked up by the soldier.

"Hey," he complained quietly, absently. He was ignored.

He was just about aware of voices around him as he was carried up the stairs and laid gently on a bed. He sniffed, recognizing the familiar smell and realised he was in his own room. Somehow, Snake was next to him suddenly with a glass of water and two small tablets which he pressed into his hand.

He turned his head away, unwilling to take them, whatever they were.

"Painkillers, Alex," Ben's gentle voice reassured him. "Swallow them."

He followed the instructions, registering in the back of his mind that this level of trust in someone was dangerous (and not good, not good at all), but too tired to care.

Within minutes (or seconds, or hours, or anything really, he didn't know) the fire in his leg became manageable, and his eyes drifted shut.

"Examine him in the morning," Ben was saying to someone – Snake, probably.

Yes, Alex wanted to say, don't disturb me now. He was aware of the duvet being pulled up over him, and the voices quietening. Then there was just one voice, Ben, and it was peaceful at last.

"Go to sleep, Alex," Ben was whispering (or was that in his head?) and a soft hand was smoothing his hair on his forehead (such a lovely dream).

He slept.

* * *

_A/N: As requested, Tom and Eagle interaction. Little bit of angst/hurt/comfort in there for you too :) I am so, so, so sorry this is so late - I haven't been able to even breathe lately. It's been exams after exams after exams, and then I've had other commitments, and I have not had the chance to try and write this. I'm hoping for more regular updates over the summer._

_Thanks so much for your patience, and I'd really love some feedback on this chapter. It helps me out so much._

_Dreams x_


	11. Sharing

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Alex Rider, it all belongs to Anthony Horowitz (despite my fervent wishing!)_

_And the mask begins to break . . ._

* * *

'_Whatever may happen, one danger and one salvation will be shared by us both'_

_(Aenead Book II, Virgil)_

Consciousness came back to Alex far too quickly. The fire in his leg renewed itself and he groaned, realising the painkillers must have worn off. Throwing off the duvet, he lifted himself to a sitting position and glanced around his room. Sunlight was seeping around the edges of his blinds and he wondered if it was still the same day or if he'd slept through the night. He looked down, noticing he was wearing pyjamas. When did that happen?

He gently dangled his legs off the side of his bed, looking at the distance between the door and him with a sinking heart. At least the floor of his room was tidy, almost obsessively so, bringing order to the chaos of his life. He didn't think he could manage dodging clothes and such like when he couldn't even put weight on his leg. There was no sign of Ben or Snake, so presumably they were downstairs. Well, there was no way he was calling for help, so he was just going to have to get downstairs by himself. He'd faced worse, after all.

Gritting his teeth, he slid slowly off the bed and balanced on one leg, clinging onto the wooden frame of the bed. He cautiously placed his injured leg on the ground, testing the extent of the pain.

"Shit," he swore to himself, immediately lifting the leg up again. Not a good idea. He was going to have to hop then. He made his way around the room, using the walls as support and hopping desperately around obstacles such as the desk when he couldn't reach the walls. By the time he reached the door, he was panting, out of breath, and his leg was throbbing with every heart beat. Damnit, he really hoped he hadn't torn the wound. He didn't want to lift his pyjama bottoms to check – ignorance is bliss, after all.

It was a long and hard struggle to get down the stairs, and at one point he sat down on the steps and slid down, holding onto the banister and keeping his injured leg in the air. He could faintly hear Ben's voice from the kitchen and knew rationally he should ask for help. But _Christ, _he was so dependant on him already, and he wanted to prove to himself that he still had the strength to exist alone. He stayed on the bottom stair for a short time, getting his breath back and working out a new strategy to get to the kitchen (or lounge – which was easier?).

It was while he was resting there that he heard footsteps outside the house and a clinking of keys. Damn, it was probably Wolf. Exactly the person he _didn't _want to see, especially when he was as vulnerable as he was.

Sure enough, Wolf walked through the door a couple of seconds later, ready to take his shift at guarding the house. The soldier stopped in the doorway when he caught sight of Alex, pale and breathing heavily, half collapsed at the bottom of the stairs.

"Damn, Cub, what happened to you?" he asked in surprise, striding forwards to help.

Alex shook his head. "I'm alright," he replied tiredly, knowing that Ben was surely going to hear the conversation and realise that Alex was out of bed. Obviously, no one had informed Wolf of the events of yesterday (or earlier today? He still hadn't figured out how much time had passed).

Just as Wolf was reaching out an arm to help hoist Alex to his feet, Ben appeared in the hallway, a scowl already on his face.

"How in hell did you manage to get down those stairs?" he asked in frustration. Alex smirked when he realised that Ben wasn't even going to ask _why _he hadn't called them. The older spy was getting to know him very well. _Too well_, a voice in his head whispered.

"I slid," Alex answered, a slight blush on his face as he pushed the voice to the back of his head. Ben wasn't a danger to him.

"What's going on?" Wolf demanded, still standing over Alex.

Ben sighed. "Alex aggravated his thigh wound yesterday playing football."

Ah, so it was yesterday. He'd slept a long time, then, and with no nightmares too. That was probably why he felt so rested today; it was the first time in a long while he'd managed a whole night's sleep.

Wolf raised his eyebrows. "And the reason he's collapsed at the bottom of the stairs after having slid down them is . . .?"

Alex sat in silence, happy at that moment to be ignored. It was better than having Ben snapping at him, which was sure to follow when he found out he'd disobeyed his physiotherapist, _and _lied about it to Ben.

"He can't put weight on it and is too bloody stubborn to ask for help." Ben glared down at him and Alex stared at the wall. It would be nice if one of them could help him to the lounge; the position he was in wasn't the comfiest.

Wolf barked out a laugh. "Sounds familiar," he said, and Alex wondered again what had happened to take the unit off active duty.

"Well, it won't happen again, will it Alex?" Ben said threateningly. Alex looked at him innocently and tried to stand, wobbling slightly. He grabbed onto the wall as Ben growled at him and grabbed him round the waist.

"You are too bloody stubborn for your own good," the older spy grumbled, repeating his earlier words out of pure annoyance, as he helped him hop into the lounge and sat him on the sofa. Snake looked up in curiosity from his position at the table and got up.

Alex sighed. Lecture time.

"Will you let Snake look at it?" Ben asked, his voice softer than his face would suggest. Concern still seemed to be the main emotion, despite his obvious frustration. "He can decide if you need to get a doctor to look at it or not."

It would have been a lot easier if Snake himself was a doctor, not just a unit medic, Alex thought to himself, but he found himself agreeing with Ben. He spoke up, however, when Snake dropped to his knees before him.

"I'm not doing it here!" he protested, his face growing red.

Ben just looked at him. "Fine," he said after a pause. "Go upstairs and put some shorts on to preserve your dignity. We'll follow you up in a couple of minutes."

Alex blushed even harder, but continued arguing. "Who's we?"

"Snake and I," Ben said immediately. Alex looked at his face and guessed there was little point protesting further. At least Wolf wasn't coming.

He sat forward and was about to get up when a potential problem with that idea arose. "Um, Ben," he started. "I can't get up the stairs by myself," he mumbled, frustrated with his inability to do anything.

"I can carry him," Wolf piped up immediately, smirking, and Alex immediately vetoed that one very loudly. He was _not _being carried again.

"I'll help you up," Ben sighed. "Snake, you follow us up in a second, ok?" The soldier nodded, silent as usual. Ben gently wrapped an arm around his waist and lifted him from the sofa. Alex floundered for a second, then found his balance. The two of them slowly made their way into his bedroom, an easier job than before as Alex was fully conscious this time – though still in pain. Ben settled him on the bed and searched through his draws for a second before managing to find some shorts. Alex was resigned to the lack of privacy he was going to get because of this injury, and let him look.

"Here," Ben said, holding out the shorts. "Do you need any help changing?" His tone was conversational, bland, trying not to embarrass Alex. He flushed anyway.

"I'll be alright," he replied, taking the shorts and not looking Ben in the eye. He hated this: hated the injury, the embarrassment, even the level of trust he had in Ben.

Ben nodded. "I'll be outside. Call me when you're ready, ok?"

Alex agreed faintly and waited for the door to shut behind Ben before sliding off his pyjama bottoms. He winced at the sight of the wound; it was red and inflamed, but the stitches seemed all right, thank God. He'd need Snake to check, however. He quickly pulled on the shorts, taking care not to brush the wound and cause further pain. He took a couple of breaths to compose himself before calling out to Ben.

"Snake's just coming," said Ben when he came in. The man winced in sympathy when he saw Alex's leg. "You alright?"

"Fine," Alex said shortly, perched on the edge of the bed.

"Looks painful," Ben added quietly, crouching in front of him. His hands hovered over Alex's leg, but he didn't seem to want to touch it.

"I've had worse, Ben," Alex sighed, knowing that the concern wasn't going to go away.

Ben nodded sadly, and stood up again. "I'll have to get Snake to look into getting some crutches for you or something."

"If I must," Alex muttered. He hated them with a passion. Nothing screamed 'vulnerable' like crutches, and if he was vulnerable, he was a target. It didn't matter that he was at risk anyway; it was a philosophy he'd developed over years of state schooling and living in London. It was a fantastic city, and he loved it, but that didn't mean there weren't dangers lurking in shadowy alleys, just like every place.

Snake walked into the room then, without even knocking on the shut door. The soldier was like that; he went where he liked and did what he wanted and nothing anybody said seemed to affect him. He existed almost in a world of his own at times.

Ben stepped back to allow Snake to bend down in front of Alex and push his shorts up slightly, allowing him to see the wound in full. He frowned, his hands examining the stitching that was slowly dissolving. His touch was gentle, in contrast to his gruff exterior, and Alex began to see why Snake made a good medic. He had the ability to really concentrate on the injury and there was little that would distract him when he was working. He could've been a doctor, Alex thought, but guessed that the abandonment of his mother at sixteen pushed him into the army instead. At least the army had given him the opportunity to do a Biology degree later on, if he believed what Ben had said before.

"The wound hasn't pulled apart," Snake said finally when he had finished inspecting his leg. "Your stitches seemed to have held alright, but it's going to need rest." He looked up at Alex, and the spy resisted the urge to pull away. He was close (too close), and the scrutiny was uncomfortable. "Did your physiotherapist say football was ok?" Snake asked.

Alex's expression didn't change, despite something within him wanting to squirm and run away. Ben frowned. "Yes," Alex lied smoothly.

Snake stared at him for a couple of seconds. "They shouldn't have," he said shortly. "You need to rest this wound, or the stitches will tear. You were incredibly lucky they haven't already."

Alex shrugged. He wasn't about to tell Ben he'd lied to him.

"Does he need crutches?" Ben asked, and Alex breathed a sigh of relief when it looked like he would drop the current subject.

Snake nodded. "It would help," he said, getting to his feet. "I'm going to grab some bandages and I'll wrap the wound up again. I'll find some crutches for you later."

He disappeared from the room, leaving the door open behind him. Alex didn't look up at Ben.

"Are you going to admit you lied to me?" Ben questioned, his voice steady. Alex blinked, cursing Ben's perceptiveness under his breath.

"What do you mean?" he replied innocently, lifting his head to meet the older man's eyes.

"Your physio is the best MI6 could find," Ben hissed. "He wouldn't have made a mistake like that."

"Well, he did," Alex pointed out. He didn't know why he insisted on carrying on with the lie, but he wasn't going to give in now.

"Please don't lie to me, Alex," Ben said tiredly.

Alex lifted his chin. "Why not?" he asked, his voice raising. He barely registered the fact that he'd admitted he'd lied to Ben.

"I think I deserve more than that," Ben replied.

"Why?" Alex repeated. "Why in hell should I listen to anything you say?" All the thoughts he'd pushed to the back of his mind - all his insecurities - were coming to the forefront.

"Because it's my job to look after you!" Ben snapped back.

"That doesn't mean anything," Alex cried. "My uncle never gave a shit about me, and we existed perfectly fine. Why do you even care?"

Ben looked like he couldn't decided whether to hug him or hit him. "Because I care about you," he said, his voice choked.

"Why do you have to care?" Alex said again, softer this time.

"Alex . . ." Ben said softly. "You need someone to care for you."

"I was fine before," the spy snapped, turning his head away.

"You had Jack," Ben replied.

"And you're not her, Ben!" Alex said loudly, fighting against the images bombarding him-

_(-red hair waving in the breeze, her smile lighting up the room, soft hands holding him as he cried, telling her about Ash and his parents and every other betrayal-)_

-and trying not to think about the greatest betrayal of all - her betrayal. She left him: left him alone to be tortured and hurt and abused. And he knew it wasn't logical, but when was love ever rational?

Understanding came over Ben's face. "I'm not trying to replace her, Alex," he said gently. "I know you miss her."

"No you don't," Alex said roughly, his voice hoarse. "You have _no _idea."

"Alex, I-"

Whatever Ben was about to say came to an abrupt end when Snake waltzed back into the room, complete with an emergency First Aid kit. Ben settled for placing an arm on Alex's shoulder before he quickly shoved it off. Ben stepped away, and Alex felt a flash of guilt at the hurt look Ben hadn't quite managed to hide.

He turned his mind to his injury instead, inhaling sharply as Snake wrapped a cotton bandage around his leg. The gentle pressure sent blades of pain up his leg and he bit his bottom lip. Snake didn't look up, just tightened his grip on the upper part of his leg which he was holding to keep the leg still.

Snake kept silent for a couple of minutes more, before standing up. "There," he said. "That should offer a bit of protection. Don't put anymore weight on it for a while though," he warned.

Ben nodded as if Snake was speaking to him. "I'll help you downstairs, Alex," he said, his calm voice showing none of the tension of their earlier conversation. Such was the life of a spy. "You can sit on the sofa and watch TV, alright?"

"Fine," Alex muttered. Snake had disappeared by this point, as was his way, without saying anything. With Ben's help, the two of them made their way downstairs after the Scot. Ben lowered Alex onto the sofa and Alex carefully lifted his leg up so that it was resting on a cushion, leaving no space for anyone else to sit down, sending a subtle message to Ben.

Ben, of course, ignored this and sat down in the armchair. Snake, sitting at the table yet again, seemed to take one look at their serious faces and left. Neither Wolf nor Eagle was anywhere to be seen. Presumably, it was Eagle's day off, and Wolf was probably outside patrolling. Alex could see that Ben was about to speak, so piped up desperately in the hope of delaying the inevitable conversation to come.

"Where's Eagle then?"

"Looking for a flat," Ben said immediately, his face grave. "Look, Alex-"

"He's moving to London?" Alex replied, interrupting.

"I've already told you that," Ben said steadily. "Stop changing the subject."

Alex sighed, resigning himself to the fact that Ben wasn't going to be deterred. He was already regretting the words he'd spoken in the heat of the moment. He had no desire to rehash the conversation with Ben again.

"I really don't appreciate you lying to me," Ben said seriously.

"I know," Alex admitted.

"Will you tell me why?"

"Why I lied?" Alex clarified. Ben nodded. Alex thought for a second, but saw no reason not to tell the truth. "I wanted to be normal," he said quietly. "I wanted to see Tom again."

"You could have seen him without playing football."

"I know," Alex repeated. "But I wanted to forget, for a few hours."

"Alex," Ben said, his face grave, "forgetting won't make it all go away. You need help."

Alex shook his head.

"Please, Alex," Ben pleaded. "Just talk to someone."

Alex said nothing.

"Talk to me if you won't talk to Doctor King," Ben said, his voice becoming a little desperate. "I care about you," he added, quietly.

"Stop saying that!" Alex snapped suddenly. Ben froze for a second, his face calculating.

"Alright," he said at last. "But surely it's better to know you're not alone?"

"I'm always alone," Alex muttered, but Ben overheard.

"You're not alone now," he promised.

"That doesn't mean anything," Alex hissed, "and you know it!" Ben stared. "When it comes to it," Alex continued, "it will always just be me. Alone."

"Alex," Ben said hopelessly.

"Don't," Alex said harshly.

Ben got up suddenly and walked over to the sofa, crouching in front of it. He placed his hand on Alex's knee and looked him in the eye. "You will _always_ have me, ok?" he said firmly.

Alex pushed him away. "Get off me," he said, his voice hard, but his body trembling slightly.

_(-help help help help alone alone alone alone blood blood blood dying dying dying-)_

"Let me help," Ben said insistently. His expression was serious, his voice matched Alex's tone completely. He wasn't going to back down.

"No," Alex said shortly, bluntly. He turned his head away.

"Listen to me, Alex," Ben retorted, grabbing his chin. Alex flinched, his body shaking, the memories coursing through him. "You cannot do this alone."

"I can try," Alex replied, trying to sound strong but far too aware that he was failing. He couldn't do this, he was falling to pieces, and Ben was too close, too close. He needed space, he needed to _think_, he needed to be alone. Alone meant people couldn't get hurt anymore.

"No," Ben said, not letting go of Alex. "_Talk _to someone before you self destruct."

"I. Am. Fine." Alex growled, trying to pull himself together, but not succeeding.

_(-"I will make you hurt, Rider. I will make you scream-)_

A choking sound erupted from his mouth as the flashbacks overwhelmed him.

"Talk to me, Alex," Ben repeated, his voice amazingly calm. "Describe what you're seeing to me."

Alex shook his head, but felt a gentle hand take his and squeeze. "Try," the soft voice uttered again.

"It- It hurts," he mumbled, attempting to push the images to the back of his mind. "It's dark."

"It's not dark here anymore," Ben reassured him. "Keep talking."

"She's dying," he said, a small sob breaking through his control. "Whatever I do, she keeps on dying."

_(-"Why didn't you save me, Alex?" she screams. "You let me die!"-)_

"I'm listening."

"There's- There's a lot of blood," Alex carried on, narrating the images floating in front of his eyes. He was no longer aware of where he was or whom he was talking to, but he kept going. "She's screaming. She's screaming a lot. My fault."

"It's not your fault, Alex," Ben said softly.

"Should've helped her," he muttered feverishly. "Should've stopped them."

"How could you have done that?" Ben said steadily. Alex wasn't listening. "Answer me, Alex."

He blinked up at Ben, the firm voice breaking through the memories. "I- I don't know," he said, tiredly.

"You did everything you could," he told the young spy.

"You don't even know what happened," Alex pointed out.

"Then tell me," Ben replied instantly.

So Alex did. Slowly, haltingly, he told Ben about that day: about the screams, about the blood, about the fighting and the drugs and the overwhelming knowledge that she had died _(died) _and he had done nothing. And if he had to stop and wipe his eyes on a tissue every so often, and if Ben's eyes had gone a bit red too, well, neither of them mentioned it.

When at last Alex couldn't speak anymore, his voice hoarse, Ben wrapped him in a hug and they sat there, both just breathing. He hadn't even touched on his captivity or torture yet, but he wasn't quite ready for that. It was a myth that you felt lighter after telling someone, but he supposed he did feel a bit better. Comforted, maybe, and not quite so lonely.

"Thank you for telling me," Ben said at last, pulling away. Alex didn't look him in the eye, embarrassed by his earlier emotions. He was a spy; he wasn't supposed to collapse like that. Ben looked at him and seemed to know immediately what he was feeling. He got to his feet and Alex was grateful for the space. "Don't ever feel embarrassed for trusting someone," Ben said quietly.

Alex nodded, reaching for the TV remote. At that moment, he just wanted to forget what had happened.

"If you ever need to talk, Alex, I'm here," Ben said, undeterred by Alex's silence.

"Ok," he answered faintly.

"I'll make sure the others give you some space for a bit, alright?"

"Thanks," Alex muttered, and he didn't even know if he was thanking Ben for his thoughtfulness or his willingness to listen or just for being there.

"Anytime," Ben said, a meaningful look on his face. Alex got the message. "I'll make some lunch. Any preference?"

Alex shook his head.

"You need to eat," Ben said in resignation.

"I know," Alex replied obstinately, but sighed a moment later. "Pasta, please."

Ben smiled at him, and Alex thought that perhaps forcing himself to eat was worth it if it made Ben happy. He'd done a lot for him, Alex admitted to himself, and he knew he'd given very little back.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, wishing to voice his little epiphany but not knowing how.

"For what?" Ben asked in surprise.

Alex shrugged and Ben smiled again, that little gentle smile that meant perhaps, _I'm here for you_, or maybe even, _I won't leave_.

"It's alright," he said. "I'll cook some pasta for lunch then, and book an appointment for your physiotherapist tomorrow."

At that point, Alex couldn't even muster up the effort to be annoyed. He hated physio, but that was tomorrow and right now all he could think about was today.

"Fine," he agreed.

"What's for lunch?" Wolf called as the front door slammed open just that second and he marched into the open plan lounge and kitchen. Ben mouthed a sorry to Alex and he shrugged again. He wasn't really feeling up to dealing with Wolf after his little break down so he switched on the TV and hoped that the soldier would leave him alone. At least Eagle wasn't in.

He could just about hear Ben and Wolf talking quietly in the kitchen, and presumed Ben was warning Wolf to give him some space. For once, he wasn't bothered about them talking behind his back. Instead, he turned his attention to the TV and idly set his mind to watching something trashy on E4. The school setting of the programme reminded him of his upcoming return to school the following week, and he prayed he wasn't still on crutches then. The humiliation of going back to lessons whilst still injured was something he didn't want to face; the rumours were going to be bad enough anyway.

* * *

He was interrupted from his musings by Ben ten minutes later.

"Pasta's ready," he called from the kitchen. "Do you want to stay there or sit at the table?" he asked.

Alex thought for a second, but decided he wasn't that interested in the TV anyway. "Table," he answered, glad that his voice had returned to normal. He swung his legs onto the floor and Ben immediately came over to help him hop to the table.

"You ok?" he muttered.

Alex nodded and sat down, looking unhappily at the meal in front of him. Wolf and Ben sat opposite him, already starting to eat. He really had no desire to eat when flashes of memories were still echoing in the back of his mind, but he glanced at Ben and decided he could bear it, for Ben. As the first forkful of pasta entered his mouth, he glanced at Wolf and Fox, both thoughtfully keeping silent. He thought that they would certainly make a strange family, but that didn't mean they couldn't be one, at some point along the line. If Ben had done one thing for him that day, it was to give him hope.

_(for a future that was maybe not quite as lonely as he'd imagined)_

* * *

_A/N: Speedy update :) I'm so impressed with myself. I'm sorry this is a bit shorter than normal, I was struggling to get something out before I go on holiday (tomorrow) with no internet. I will however try and write a chapter while I'm away and hopefully upload it when I'm back (a week or two)._

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please please please review! It really makes my day! (I'm trying to reply to everyone's so if I haven't, let me know and I will!)_

_Dreams x_


	12. Understanding

_Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider, it all belongs to Anthony Horowitz_

* * *

_'Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.'_

_(Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, by J. K. Rowling)_

_The body was what Alex noticed first in the room. It was dark except for the area around the corpse, lit up as if someone was shining a torch on it. Alex fought the urge to vomit and moved closer. As he did so, the room appeared to shrink until his head was just touching the ceiling. He pushed the claustrophobia down but couldn't prevent the cry that erupted when the unknown corpse's features shifted, melted, into a face he knew far too well, and the hair turned red as if blood was seeping through it._

"_Jack!" he cried, and dropped to his knees beside her. Her skin was cold and smooth, but there was no visible injury. A voice spread through the room at that moment, coming not from the body but from the air itself, filling every corner of the room._

"_You could have saved me," it whispered, and the sound echoed over and over again. Alex shot to his feet and spun round on the spot, recognizing the voice but knowing it couldn't have come from the body._

"_No," he mumbled, shaking his head, "no, no, no."_

"_Weak," another voice hissed, the distinctive tones of Wolf clearly audible._

"_Needy," another agreed, and Alex felt pain rip through his body at the sound of Ben's voice. It's not real, he told himself desperately. But knowing and believing are two very different things. _

_He turned to face the body again when he heard rustling, and felt shock strike him when he saw Jack – no, the body – start to move. As it began to stand up, the body morphed again into the shape of a man who Alex had tried so hard to forget. The man took a step towards him and Alex immediately moved back. The thing laughed cruelly._

"_Scared of me, are you, Rider?" the man's lips moved but again the voice seemed to come from nowhere, spreading through the whole room. "As you should be," the man-body-thing growled, his face darkening. Alex began to shake as images of his torture literally flashed up on the walls as if they were television screens. He tried to back away but found his back was against the wall._

"_I can make you bleed, Rider," the man continued. "I can make you scream." A knife appeared in the man's hands and Alex began to yell-_

-and woke up, his body trembling and his heart racing as if he'd been running a marathon. He was drenched in sweat and it took him a couple of minutes to collect himself and banish the images from his mind. Shakily, he swung his legs off the side of his bed and looked at his phone. 4.27 am. Too early really to get up, but there was no chance of any more sleep that night. Besides, he started school again that day and so he would need to be up in two hours anyway.

Deciding that it was pointless to stay in bed, he stood up slowly and carefully tested his injured leg before putting his full weight on it. It had healed nicely during the past few days according to Snake and his physio, but he was still wary in the mornings when the damaged muscles were stiff. It seemed all right, so Alex avoided his painkillers on his desk and made his way downstairs quietly. Wolf was off again today, so at least he didn't have to worry about waking that particular grumpy soldier, but he didn't want to test the others either.

The kitchen was empty when he got downstairs and he breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't uncommon to see a member of K-Unit there in the night, either because they'd stayed up on duty – something that was becoming more and more frequent – or because they too, like Alex, had been unable to sleep. None of them ever spoke about it. Alex gave them their privacy just as they gave him his, despite his desire to know what had happened to give the SAS unit extended leave, coupled with extensive nightmares.

He made himself a strong cup of coffee, a drink he only ever had at night. He knew he'd need the caffeine to get through the day. He'd ended up missing his entire GCSEs due to his recovery, so he was going to join the year below, something he hadn't been able to avoid. No sixth form or college would take him without GCSEs. It was amazing Brookland's even let him back, a feat entirely due to Ben and MI6's gentle persuading, although he's been assured that nothing had been revealed about his life. It was now early July, so he would join his new year for a couple of weeks before the summer holidays started. Any work they would be doing wouldn't be strenuous, so Ben and Alex had agreed it would be a nice way of allowing him to settle back into school life. The only disadvantage was that Tom would no longer be in his year, although thankfully he was staying on at the school's sixth form so Alex would be able to see him at break and lunch.

Taking his mug with him, he flopped onto the sofa and switched on the TV, muting the sound and turning on the subtitles so he didn't wake anyone up. After a few minutes he felt himself begin to drift off, the effort of trying to read the character's speech and follow their actions tiring him. He was jerked back to reality by the sound of someone coming downstairs. He didn't look around when the person entered the room, instead choosing to watch the crummy repeats currently on the TV.

"Hey Cub," Eagle said a couple of seconds later, sitting on the sofa next to him. Alex smiled wanly at him and muttered a 'good morning'. The irony of the phrase wasn't lost on either of them.

They both focused their attention on the TV, pretending to be enthralled by the programme so no conversation would be required. Alex acted as if he didn't notice the bags under Eagle's eyes and the mug of tea he clung to like a lifeline. Neither of them stirred until six-thirty when Alex stretched and got up.

"I'm going to have a shower," Alex mumbled, walking tiredly from the room. Eagle only nodded, looking as emotionally drained as Alex felt.

The water was cold when Alex first stepped into the shower and he shivered, relishing the clarity it brought to his mind. He knew he had to pull himself together, had to create a mask to wear at school that none of the stupid rumours could break.

He dressed into his old school uniform mechanically, noticing absently that his trousers were becoming too short. How he'd managed to grow when he'd spent two of the last few months starved, he didn't understand, but he couldn't help the spark of hope that whispered that MI6 would have no use for him if he didn't look young. He knew the thought was ridiculous; after all, MI6 always had need of adult agents too and Alex wasn't going to believe that they'd let go of him now.

He wandered from the bathroom into his bedroom and had just placed his pyjamas on his bed when Ben knocked on the door and stuck his head round.

"Morning," he said with an easy smile. Alex mumbled a greeting in a typical teenage fashion that just screamed, 'it's too early'.

"Bacon and egg for breakfast?" Ben asked. "Since it's your first day back?"

"'Kay, thanks," Alex agreed. He very rarely ate breakfast, to Ben's immense frustration, but he knew he'd need the strength to get through the day. Tom and the rest of his year had already finished for the summer after their GCSEs, so it would be just him and the current year 10s. Joy.

"I'll start cooking them now," Ben told him. "Come down as soon as you're ready."

Alex nodded, uttering thanks again, and turned to pack his school bag. All he needed was a pencil case and homework diary for the day, so pretty quickly he was heading downstairs for breakfast.

Once there, he helped Ben out by grabbing some plates and cutlery.

"How many?" he questioned, presuming that Ben would be able to guess his exact meaning.

"Just three," Ben answered. "Snake's been up all night outside and apparently is going to sleep as long as humanely possible."

Alex chuckled quietly at the quote marks Ben made in the air with his fingers and laid the table. He watched Ben cook awkwardly when he finished, not knowing what else to do. "Shall I get Eagle?"

"That would be helpful," Ben said, glancing round from the stove with a smile. "I think he went upstairs somewhere." Alex nodded his understanding and went to track the soldier down.

A few minutes later they were all eating peacefully around the dining table. There was little conversation and Alex, for one, was thankful for that. His stomach was churning with nerves. How ironic, he thought to himself in annoyance. Dangerous psychopaths didn't faze him, but fifteen year old school kids gave him butterflies in his tummy as if he was a child again.

All too soon the clock ticked around to seven thirty and Alex pushed back his chair from the table. Ben glanced up at him.

"Time to go?" he asked smiling.

Alex inclined his head in agreement, hurrying upstairs to get his schoolbag. When he got back down, Ben stood by the front door with car keys in his hand. Eagle stood by the entrance to the kitchen, looking remarkably more awake than he had earlier in the morning.

"Good luck," the SAS man told him, grimacing as if in consolation. Alex wondered if Eagle had hated school that much, but guessed there were few people who looked back on the school days with happiness.

"Thanks," Alex replied, not knowing what else to say, and Ben gestured for him to go through the door. Alex got in the car with no argument; they'd had the conversation regarding transport a couple of days ago. Alex's physiotherapist didn't want him straining his leg too much so strenuous exercise was forbidden, including lots of walking or cycling. Ben, too, agreed that it would be too risky for him to travel to school alone, albeit for different reasons. Alex had argued initially, but soon gave in. He saw the sense in Ben's offer to drive him, despite the loss of independence it would cause.

"You nervous?" Ben asked after a few seconds of silence. His tone was causal, but Alex could sense the undercurrent of concern in his voice and posture.

"A little," Alex admitted quietly. "It's been a while." And God, it had. He hadn't been to school since early March, before he was taken by Menarc. It was now July. Four months, and so much had changed.

Ben nodded in understanding, not taking his eyes off the road. "If you need to leave at any point, Alex, just call," he told him carefully. Alex knew what he had been trying to say; if he had a flashback during the day, Ben would come and rescue him like a bloody knight in armour. As much as Alex wanted to protest that he wasn't a pathetic distressed maiden, he couldn't quite deny that the offer made him feel a teensy bit happier. He was always shaky after an incident, always prone to another, and there was no getting around the fact that there were plenty of opportunities for him to be set off in a school. He was sure he'd make good use of Ben's offer at some point in the next two weeks.

In the end, Alex didn't reply, but Ben seemed to get the unspoken message. The rest of the car journey was spent in silence.

"Want me to come in with you?" Ben questioned as they pulled up outside the front of the school.

Alex shook his head. "I'm alright," he answered, shouldering his bag and stepping out of the car.

"Good luck," Ben wished him, echoing Eagle's words. Alex smiled briefly and watched the car pull away. Slowly, he walked into the reception area, noticing happily that Miss Bedfordshire was still there. It was strange that so little had altered in the outside world, when Alex felt like his whole life had been torn to pieces. It was comforting in a way; proof that life had to go on.

"Alex!" she exclaimed when she saw him. "I heard you were coming back."

"Hi," he said, somewhat sheepishly. "Could you tell me what form I'm in?"

She clicked around on her computer for a few minutes before looking up with a smile. "Your form tutor's Mr Davis," she told him. "You're in GTR2."

"Thanks," he said, and uttered a quick goodbye.

"I'll see you around, I'm sure," Miss Bedfordshire said, before adding mischievously, "don't get lost!"

"I'll try," Alex retorted, heading through into the courtyard. The outside area was bustling with people, teachers and students alike, all milling around before lessons started at 8.30. Alex looked at the crowds, before deciding to head straight to his form room. With all his year finished for the summer, there was no one for him to talk to anyway.

He found GTR2 easily, grateful he hadn't forgotten his way around the school, but there was no sign of Mr Davis. School policy dictated that all classrooms should be locked when empty and only teachers had the keys, so Alex had no choice but to hang around outside the form room until his form tutor turned up at 8.20.

"Alex Rider?" the man asked tentatively when he caught sight of the teen sitting on the floor by the classroom. Alex had never been taught by Mr Davis so he didn't blame the man for not being sure who he was. He immediately stood up and smiled.

"Yes, sir," he replied. The teacher held out his hand for him to shake, the grip surprisingly strong. Mr David himself wasn't a large man, nor was he particularly strict looking. He was dressed fairly causally for a teacher, with a tucked in shirt and trousers but no jacket.

"I'm Mr Davis, your new form tutor," the man told him, unlocking the classroom door and dumping his bag on the teacher's desk. When Alex just nodded, unsure as to whether he should follow the teacher or not, the man smiled genially. "Come in, find a desk."

Alex thanked him, trying to make a good first impression. He didn't know how much Mr Davis had heard about him before, but guessed there was no point living up to the rumours. He did as the man said, heading to the back of the classroom and sitting down at a desk next to the wall. In a crowded classroom, the comfort of being able to see everyone else and having his back to the wall could well be the only thing that would keep him sane. At the thought of the classroom filling up with rowdy teenagers, his stomach revolted again. There was no denying that he was nervous. His attention was caught, however, by Mr Davis, when the teacher stood up and made his way to the back of the room, sitting on a desk in front of Alex.

The man scrutinised him for a second, before quietly saying, "I heard you haven't had a great last two years."

Alex shook his head, laughing inwardly at the vast understatement. He wondered exactly what the man had been told.

"You're going to have to work very hard to keep up," the teacher continued seriously, "even though you've dropped back a year."

"I know," Alex replied heavily.

Mr Davis leaned back on the desk then, taking his weight into his hands. "Despite that, your school reports at this school initially were very good, which is why I said I'd take you on in this class."

Alex looked at him, genuinely grateful. There weren't many people who'd overlook the last two years and the rumours of delinquency and take a chance on him. "Thank you," he replied, hoping to convey the gratitude he felt in those two, entirely inadequate words.

"If you have any problems, Alex, or just want to chat, you can always come to me, alright?" Mr Davis told him causally, but Alex could tell by the serious look in his eyes that he meant his words. The man was wasted as a secondary school teacher, Alex decided. Not many would appreciate his quiet presence and his gentle words, nor would most ever need them.

"Ok," Alex replied, somewhat embarrassed by the concern.

"On a lighter note," Mr Davis said, hopping off the desk and retrieving something from his desk, "here's your timetable for the next two weeks."

Alex took it and studied it. He'd left all his textbooks at home for the day, as he hadn't known what particular lessons he would have, but he didn't think it would be a problem. PE, however, which he was supposed to be doing today, would be.

"Uh, sir," Alex began, looking up at his teacher, "it says I have PE today, and-"

"I've been told you can't do PE," Mr Davis interrupted, already anticipating what Alex was going to say. "Your sports teachers have been informed and you're to spend the period in the library. That alright?"

"Perfect," Alex said, relieved that he didn't have to explain his injury to the often over-enthusiastic sports teachers. "Thanks, sir."

"Not a problem," Mr David replied briskly. "The rest of your class should be coming in soon, so make yourself at home." He moved back to the front desk and logged onto the computer.

Alex sat for a short time, then pulled out his phone.

-You're such a lucky bastard – he texted Tom. A few minutes later, his phone vibrated in his hand.

- Argh, too early – came the reply. Alex scowled at his phone and fired off another text.

- Some of us have been up for four hours! –

- You alright? –

Alex stared at the text, closing his eyes briefly. He should have known that Tom would instantly work out that there was only one reason he'd be up at 4 am.

- Fine – he replied in the end, unsure what else to say.

- Good. Gd luck today! –

- Bastard. –

Alex put his phone on silent then and slipped it into his pocket, because students were starting to filter in. There was the normal chorus of 'morning sir!'s and grumbling, but no one seemed surprised to see Alex sitting there. He wondered if they'd been warned.

When the bell rang at 8.30, nearly all the seats had been filled, but Alex had been left alone at the back. Mr Davis called for quiet, and took the register briefly. Alex answered with a quiet 'yes, sir' when his name was called, and the classroom was deathly silent. Alex stared at the wall.

"Right," Mr Davis announced when the register was finished. "I need to pop over to reception for a few minutes, so behave while I'm gone, okay?" He looked sternly at the class and got a few nods back. He left the classroom, leaving the door open behind him, as if he might be able to hear any rowdy behaviour from reception. It was a fantasy that several teachers indulged in, and it never failed to amuse Alex.

Alex stayed quiet at the back, watching people move around the room chatting to friends. There were a couple of people scribbling in the corner, presumably finishing overdue homework, but mostly there was no work in sight. Alex pulled out his phone, checking for a new message from Tom. Nothing. The git had probably gone back to sleep.

"Alex, right?" a plain looking girl asked him, standing in front of his desk.

"Yeah," he replied absently, pocketing his phone. He'd already evaluated the girl, recognizing no real threat. He didn't know her, but that wasn't surprising.

"I'm Laura," she introduced herself. She gestured to the seat next to him. "Mind if I sit here?"

Alex shook his head. "Go ahead," he said in a friendly tone. No harm in making allies, he thought, but there was an annoying voice in the back of his head wanting to know why she had moved from her original place to next to him. Gossiper, it whispered.

"We weren't really told much about you," Laura commented curiously, and the little voice crowed in victory, "just that you'd missed a lot of school and had to drop back a year. That's never really happened before, you know."

"I know," Alex said noncommittally. What did she want him to say? All she'd been told was the truth.

"So why did you drop back?" she asked. Her smile wasn't malicious; she seemed genuinely interested. Still, he simply shrugged.

"I missed a lot of school last year," Alex replied.

She frowned. "But why?" Alex said nothing. "I spoke to someone in your year, you know," she continued. "She told me some of the rumours."

"Well, if you've heard the rumours why are you bothering me?" Alex snapped back immediately.

It was her turn to shrug. "Because when are rumours ever true?" she offered.

"Why listen to them, then?" Alex asked, slightly confused by this contradictory girl.

"I was curious," she said lightly, smirking.

"You're very nosy," Alex observed.

Laura laughed. "My mother would agree with you," she said. "She says it's my worst quality. I prefer the word inquisitive."

Alex hummed in reply, and Laura didn't seem bothered by the lapse in conversation. She pulled out her homework diary and began flicking through it, stopping on odd days to jot things down. Alex couldn't decide if she was being organised or just doodling in boredom.

Fairly quickly, Mr Davis returned, and the rest of form time was whiled away with awkward class-teacher chatter. The bell soon rang to signal the first lesson and Alex glanced at his timetable to see he had history. Laura muttered a quick goodbye and headed off to join a group of girls. Alex wondered idly if she was narrating their conversation, but decided he didn't much care. They could think what they liked.

The day passed quickly. No one else spoke to him except teachers and he only caught glimpses of Laura, always with a group of friends. He drifted from lesson to lesson, wondering if it was normal to feel like a ghost or if it was a symptom of the PTSD his psychiatrist kept trying to diagnose him with. He still hadn't spoken a word to the man, to Ben's upmost frustration, so apparently Dr King couldn't accurately diagnose him until he did. Bullshit, he thought. Alex knew Ben had spoken to the man behind his back, but couldn't fault him for trying to help.

Lunch he spent squished onto a table of year 8s, desperately pushing the flashbacks down, before deciding he didn't really care that much about food and dumping his meal in the bin. He pushed down the voice that sounded distinctly like Ben's, telling him he needed to eat. He passed away the rest of the break in the IT room, researching PTSD. He wondered if he should be worried that he fit almost all of the symptoms (and he noted that numbness was indeed one of them). No wonder Ben was worried. Oh well. Then he realised that that reaction was probably not healthy either. How much of him was dictated by the PTSD? How could he even begin to separate out the two parts of his mind – the healthy part, and the traumatised part? (you can't, a voice whispered. He quashed it down.) Suppressing these thoughts, he logged off and headed for his next lesson.

* * *

By the end of the day, he'd established a few things. One, year 10s weren't as nosy as he'd thought they'd be, two, school was absolutely going to kill his leg, and three, maths was really hard to understand when you'd missed all the basics. That was the subject he'd have to focus on, despite being good at it before SIS had entered his life. He headed out to a side road leading to the school, the prearranged meeting place with Ben. He checked his phone for messages from the older spy, but nothing. Hopefully that meant he was on time.

Sure enough, Ben's car pulled up a few seconds later and Alex hopped in. Ben smiled at him before pulling out of a side road.

"Good day?" he asked. Alex considered the question for a moment.

"Quiet," he replied vaguely. Ben nodded.

"Nothing happened?" he checked, and Alex got the unspoken question.

"No," he answered. No one had really got near enough to him to cause a flashback, apart from at lunch, but he wasn't going to bother Ben with that minor incident. He'd been careful all day long to choose desks against a wall and preferably at the back.

"Good," Ben said cheerfully, and left him alone. Alex was grateful for the space. It gave him a chance to think over the events of the day and relax a little. He didn't have to be on full alert around Ben and K-Unit – he trusted them to respect his boundaries. (too much, too much). No. He didn't trust them enough, he told himself sharply.

"Don't forget your appointment with Dr King tonight," Ben said, breaking the silence as they parked outside the house. Alex nodded, inwardly thinking deeply. He stepped out of the car, blinking away the sleepiness in his eyes; something about the car's movement often lulled him into a doze.

"Come on," Ben said, unlocking the door. "Dump your bag and relax on the sofa for a bit."

Alex smiled, kicking off his shoes and shoving his schoolbag on top of the shoe rack. He sae Ben's faint frown at the action and smirked. He followed the older spy into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

"You have my permission to shove Eagle off," Ben told him cheerfully, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the sofa.

Alex grinned. "Thanks," he replied, then felt confused. When had he ever needed anyone's permission to act? That was what had made him attractive to MI6 – his independence. Still, he placed his glass on the coffee table and kicked at Eagle's leg, dangling off the sofa. The soldier appeared to be dozing.

"Move, you great lump," Alex told him loudly. Eagle stirred.

"Wha-a?" he mumbled, lifting his head to see who was there. "G'way Cub."

Alex pulled at his leg, dragging him half off the sofa before Eagle woke up fully. Ben watched the subsequent fight from the table and was pleased to see that Alex won. It wouldn't do for Eagle to get cocky whilst on leave.

* * *

Alex lay on his side watching TV for an hour. His teachers and Ben had agreed that he was to complete no homework over the next two weeks, but to treat it as a gentle introduction period. The summer holidays would be spent with private tutors, getting him up to speed with his new year group, but for now he had nothing to focus on except his recovery, both mental and physical. But Christ, Alex just wanted something to do most of the time; something to distract him from the ever present images in his head, the flashbacks, and perhaps the worst of all, the overwhelming knowledge that he didn't remember everything.

All too soon, Ben was yelling at him to get ready for the psychiatrist, and Alex was rushing around, trying to look busy but knowing that he was really only delaying the inevitable.

"C'mon, Alex," Ben snapped. "We're going to be late!"

"Pity," Alex muttered, too quiet for Ben to hear. Eagle did, however, from his position on the stairs where he was watching the proceedings, and shot him an amused look.

"What are you even looking for?" Ben asked exasperatedly, as Alex trailed from room to room, moving things out of the way.

"Trainers and phone," Alex answered distractedly. Eagle chucked a pair of shoes at him from the stairs.

"Here," the SAS man called, ever so helpfully. Snake appeared too, wandering down the stairs like a zombie.

"What's all the noise?" the Scot asked grumpily, but received no coherent reply. He scowled and traipsed into the kitchen where Alex was lifting newspapers and shifting plates.

"Can someone ring it?" Alex looked beseechingly at Ben, who sighed but complied. No sound could be heard except Snake's grumblings and the movement of tea bags.

"Damn, must still be on silent," Alex mumbled, renewing the search. He didn't need the phone, but the loss of it was a very convenient excuse to put off his appointment as long as possible.

"Do you really have to have your phone?" Ben cried in frustration. "We have to be there in five minutes."

By this point, even Eagle had joined in the search, but whether he was doing any good was debatable. Alex had his hands down the back of the sofa when he felt a strange rectangular shape. He felt a flash of disappointment but knew he had to give up. He drew out the phone and held it up.

"Found it!" he announced and Ben practically propelled him into the car. Eagle waved them goodbye cheerfully and Alex could hear Snake muttering something about peace and quiet as they shut the door behind them.

"Was that entirely necessary?" Ben snapped once they were safely driving away from the house. Alex tried to look innocent.

"Was what necessary?"

"You and I both know that you only cared about your phone because you wanted to delay seeing Dr King," Ben said firmly, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

"I don't-" Alex tried to deny, but Ben interrupted him.

"Don't lie to me, Alex," he said quietly, and Alex flashbacked to the last time he'd said that.

_(-"she's screaming. She's screaming a lot. There's a lot of blood"-)_

"So what if I did?" Alex said defensively.

Ben growled, actually growled, but dropped the subject. Alex smiled to himself and lent to look out the window. Winding up Ben went against all his survival instincts, but it generally made him feel better (more like a teenager than a spy).

Alex jumped out of the car as soon as Ben pulled into the car park and strode into the reception area, Ben just a second or two behind. The receptionist recognized them both and told them to take a seat; Dr King would be ready shortly. Alex sat down immediately, but Ben walked around a little bit, probably letting off some steam, before following suit. He didn't get up when Alex's name was called, but promised to wait in reception for him as normal. Alex saw him pulling out a book as he left the room. Dr King welcomed him with a smile and gestured for him to take a seat. Alex zoned out as the psychiatrist gave him the usual spiel about a problem shared being a problem halved, or some such rubbish.

"You think I have PTSD," Alex said, out of the blue, quiet as a mouse, surprising even himself.

"-and some people find it really helps to draw- Pardon?" Dr King said, swinging around to look at them from his wanderings around the room. Alex stared straight ahead and repeated his earlier words, possibly even quieter than before. It was the first time he'd ever spoken to Dr King, and Alex was wondering himself why he'd chosen today to open his mouth. Ben had better be bloody thankful that he'd taken his advice.

"Yes," the psychiatrist said, looking slightly shocked. Alex didn't blame him. "Yes," he repeated stronger. "I think it's highly likely-"

"How would you treat it?" Alex interrupted. He didn't want to look at the man, focusing instead on the wall. He didn't want to surrender that little bit to him.

"Well," the man coughed, "talking, like we've been doing, Cognitive Behavioural Therapy perhaps. EMDR is something to consider as well as maybe antidepressants, although they can be addictive."

Alex said nothing, the medical words going over his head and not knowing how to voice the thoughts in his mind. He didn't know if he was ready to share the images with the psychiatrist. Scrap that, he knew he wasn't ready.

"But Alex, I can't diagnose you when you won't talk to me," Dr King said gently.

Alex turned to face him. "Nightmares," he said steadily, while a tiny voice in his head screamed 'what are you doing?' at him. "Flashbacks. Inability to recall certain things. Numbness. Lack of concentration. They're all signs of PTSD, right?"

Dr King nodded. "That's correct," he replied, and looked thankful just to see Alex talking, even if he didn't understand where the teenager was going with it.

Alex looked him in the eye, wondering if he could take the final step. Ben's words from weeks ago echoed in his head. _We're all here to stay. No one will judge you._ He took a deep breath.

"I have all of them," he whispered, and the words reverberated around in his head. What are you doing? the voice was screaming at him again, but louder this time. He pushed it down. He didn't even know what he was afraid of anymore.

Dr King paused, then slowly sat down at his desk. "Thank you for telling me," the man said quietly. Alex looked at a photo of the psychiatrist and what must be his kids, and wondered if he would ever feel normal again.

* * *

_A/N: As promised, here is another update. This will be the last of the 'recovery' chapters (I think). The plot will come into play in the next chapter, although I'm not sure there will be a lot of action. . . Alex isn't healed, not by a long way, and there will of course be a lot more recovering to do once the plot is out of the way. I cannot say how much of the aftermath I will cover at this point, so let's just wait and see :)_

_I hope you all liked this chapter, and I love to hear all of your opinions and comments so please do review! Constructive criticism is always loved._

_Dreams x_


	13. Departures

_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz_

* * *

_'The power of accurate observation is commonly called cynicism by those who have not got it'_

_(George Bernard Shaw)_

Laughter hadn't come easily to Alex after his rescue, but laughing is exactly what he found himself doing when talking to Laura. She was a contradiction all of her own, and she came and went whenever she wanted. Today, she had been hanging around with him, tracking him down at lunch and again as school ended. She reached out and touched his arm.

"I've got to go," she said apologetically, gesturing to one of the school buses.

He smiled at her, disguising his flinch, and said goodbye. She was nice to talk to when his friends were on holiday, but he tended to end up craving solitude when he was with her. He wandered over to where Ben was waiting in the car for him.

"Friend of yours?" Ben asked absently as he drove off. Alex looked back at the school buses, deep in thought.

"Of a sort," he said shortly.

Ben nodded, and silence reigned. Alex had been back at school for a few days and already he could feel the familiar school boy attitude sinking in – the 'I don't care how necessary it is, no one can make me like school' mindset. It was a nice change to hanging around with three soldiers and a spy, and it was definitely better than being in the custody of MI6 or Menarc, but _God_, school got boring after a while. Far too much algebra and Cold War, and not nearly enough excitement. It was the curse of the spy, he guessed. Even a relaxing break got boring very quickly when you're used to gunshots and chases.

"You're not planning to go anywhere tonight, are you?" Ben interrupted his thoughts when they pulled into the driveway. Alex reached across and undid his seat belt, shouldering his school bag.

"No," he answered curiously, "why?" Ben was reluctant to let him out of the house without a guard, but he'd never stopped him. Besides, Alex never went anywhere except to the park or Tom's house – it wasn't as if he had a lot of friends.

Ben didn't reply until they were safely indoors and the door was locked. "K-Unit are out tonight," he said in a low voice. "I'd prefer if you stayed with me as much as possible."

K-Unit? Out? Where would all of them possibly be going, especially when they were supposed to be guarding the house?

"To the Bank?" Alex guessed quietly and watched Ben nod seriously.

"They got the call earlier," he replied, then saw Alex's face and quickly added, "and I don't know what it's about, so don't ask."

"And you wouldn't tell me if you did know,"

Ben chuckled. "No," he confirmed, "I probably wouldn't."

Ales scowled, but couldn't fault Ben. Secrecy wasn't simply a habit for a spy; it was a way of life, and Alex knew how the lies and omissions could become completely ingrained.

"Anyway," Ben said, "we have extra personnel on guard today, but I'm taking no chances. Stay downstairs, alright?"

Alex nodded his agreement, feeling a flicker of unease at the extra security measures. He knew perfectly well that no amount of guards would truly stop Scorpia – or Menarc, whoever they were now – if they really wanted to get him. The absence of K-Unit would offer them a lovely opportunity, and he really didn't want to get reacquainted with them again. If MI6 felt a need for the added security, that probably meant there was a threat – after all, they wouldn't waste the personnel for no reason, not with the economy the way it was.

* * *

The evening passed slowly, with both Ben and Alex jumping at every noise. Dinner was tense and silent, both swallowing their shepherd's pie with difficulty, acutely aware that if Menarc attacked, it could be their last meal.

"What time are they expected back?" Alex asked quietly, breaking the heaviness of the silence with his words. Ben stood up, putting his plate in the dishwasher. Alex followed suit.

"I don't know," Ben murmured, looking around, and Alex did the same. Was it truly paranoia when you knew people really were out to get you?

"I'm going to hang around in the lounge for a bit," Alex said, not knowing how else to reply. He wondered what would happen in terms of sleeping if the others didn't come back that night. Then a thought occurred to him. If they didn't know when they were supposed to be back, how would they possibly know if something had happened to K-Unit?

"Ok," Ben agreed, grabbing some washing-up liquid and squirting it into the bowl. Alex stood still for a couple of seconds, wondering if he should help. Ben glanced at him, jerking his head towards the sofa. "Go," he said. "I don't mind clearing up."

Alex smiled in thanks, slumping down in front of the TV and turning it on low. He wanted to able to hear any intruders, or alternatively if the SAS soldiers came back. Ben joined him a few minutes later.

"You holding up alright?"

"Yeah," Alex answered, recognizing Ben's concern. "It's not exactly a new thing, being in danger."

Ben's face darkened. "I know," he said, and those two words hung between them, highlighting Alex's past experiences. Alex drew his knees up to his chest, reaching for the remote. He didn't want to revisit the old memories.

Suddenly there were footsteps outside. Alex froze, feeling Ben do the same next to him. Neighbours? No. Too close to be next door.

"Quick," Ben hissed, grabbing Alex's arm. "Get upstairs, now."

"No way," Alex replied immediately, keeping his voice low. The footsteps were getting louder, and they sounded heavy. "If it's Menarc, I'll be trapped upstairs."

"Fine," Ben said quickly, and unanimously they crept into the kitchen, hovering by the door where they would be able to see who it was the instant they stepped through the door. It was too late to run, now. If it was Menarc, they would have the house surrounded. The only way out was to fight. Alex slipped into a loose fighting position, ready for any intruders.

There was a jangle of keys and Alex straightened up, sharing a look with Ben. "Intruders with keys?" Alex said, an eyebrow raised. Ben smiled, his body relaxing.

"Unlikely," Ben agreed. "Shall we go meet them?"

Alex nodded, and they headed to the door, opening it just as the 'intruders' got there. There was a flurry of movement, and Alex was greeted by the sight of a very tense K-Unit, all with their arms raised and ready to fight. Alex guessed he and Ben weren't the only ones to be tense that night. The separation and security risk had put them all on edge.

"Ben," Wolf sighed in relief, putting the keys back in his pocket.

"Worried, were we?" Alex asked with a grin. It was easier to mock Wolf than admit how paranoid he and Ben had been.

"Shut up, Cub," Snake snapped, pushing his way into the house. Alex raised his eyebrows.

"Good meeting?" he asked sarcastically, looking at Snake's retreating back.

"No," Wolf answered shortly, also making his way inside. Ben caught Alex's arm briefly, giving him a warning glance. Even Eagle didn't say anything, simply following the others inside and flopping on the sofa.

"Tea anyone?" Alex said, deciding he may as well be helpful. He might get more answers that way, he reasoned.

"Please," Ben replied, and he got three grunts from the soldiers. Presuming that meant yes, he picked five mugs out of the cupboard and put on the kettle. Whilst tracking down some teabags, he heard murmurings from the lounge. Discretely, he moved closer to them, straining his ears to hear what they were saying.

"-tomorrow," he caught Eagle confirming.

"That's not a lot of prep time," Ben said, frowning. Alex wondered what they were talking about.

Wolf shrugged. "When do they care about that?"

Alex heard the kettle ping and cursed under his breath as they all turned to look at him. Innocently, he turned back into the kitchen and poured the water into the teapot. He heard Ben shush the others.

So, he thought, whatever they were talking about he wasn't supposed to know – not yet, anyway. If something was happening tomorrow, presumably he'd find out then. It would be hard to keep something involving all of them a secret when they were living in the same house.

He didn't say anything about their conversation when he handed them their tea. He sat cross-legged in front of the TV, subduing the wince that threatened to occur when the wound on his leg pulled at the movement. It had healed, but was still sore if stretched. He was still off PE at school, but had to admit that he was relieved by that; his sports teachers were _scary_.

"No disturbances?" Wolf asked, looking at Ben for an answer. Snake and Eagle were sat on the sofa, both quiet and distinctly pale. Alex had a feeling it was to do with the reason they were on leave.

"None," Ben said, shaking his head.

"Good," Wolf acknowledged. "The extra security will stay until tomorrow morning,"

Ben nodded. "Still too expensive to have full time?"

"Yeah," Wolf said with a scowl. Alex guessed they'd had a similar conversation before.

"I'm supposed to be one of their best agents," he interrupted. "Surely they can spare a few men?"

"Don't be cocky, Cub," Wolf dismissed. "You're sixteen."

Alex looked at Ben, raising his eyebrows. Ben smiled at him, shaking his head as if to say 'let it go'.

"I'm going to bed," Snake said suddenly, standing up and marching from the room.

"It's only eight," Alex called, but there was no reply. He shrugged, almost missing the dark looks Wolf and Ben exchanged.

"I'm going as well," Eagle said quietly, standing up. Alex had never seen the man look so serious, nor so . . . worried?

"You alright?" Ben asked softly, and Eagle nodded, quickly walking from the room. Alex heard his footsteps on the stairs a few minutes later.

"Where's he planning on sleeping?" Alex questioned in amusement, realising that there was only one spare room.

"There's a mattress on the floor in the spare room now," Ben answered, grinning at him. "He's not going to steal your bed, don't worry."

"As long as he doesn't," Alex said in mock anxiety. "I couldn't sleep on the floor," he exclaimed.

"Not a problem," Ben said, "Wolf's the one who has to sleep on the sofa tonight."

Alex laughed at the look on Wolf's face as he stared at the sofa.

"You have got to be joking," he growled.

"Unless you want to share a bed?" Ben asked cheekily and Wolf glared at him.

"What's to stop me going home?"

"The fact that it's your turn on duty tonight?"

Wolf growled again. His code name was a very apt description, Alex mused, smiling at the exchange.

"Guess I probably won't sleep tonight anyway then," Wolf said with a frustrated sigh. Ben patted his shoulder in pretend sympathy.

"Well, have fun you two," the spy said cheerfully, "I'm going to have a shower."

"'Night," Alex said, moving from the floor to the spare spot on the armchair.

Some time later, Alex yawned and stretched his arms above his head. Wolf, engrossed in a new episode of Criminal Minds, didn't look up.

"Good night," Alex wished him, slowly standing up. He glanced at his watch, realising that it was only ten o'clock and he was already exhausted. Oh well, there was little chance he'd sleep through the night so he might as well sleep when he could.

"'Night," Wolf said absently, fleetingly flicking his eyes up to Alex's standing form. Alex trailed upstairs, seeing Ben's shut door. Looked like Ben had gone to bed already – or was on his laptop. He debated having a shower, but figured he'd have one when he woke up; he was too tired now. He slipped his pyjamas on and slid into a restless sleep.

* * *

_Blood. Red, dripping from the walls of the tiny windowless room. Yellow stars hung from the ceiling. He tried to reach them, feel them, discover what they were made of, but the ceiling moved – up, up, up – until he could no longer see it and there was only emptiness, colourless, blank space drifting in front of his eyes. The red had faded, replaced only by white walls and no ceiling. Then there was a scream – "Alex!" – echoing around and he spun, looking desperately for the source but there was nothing, just the voice, screaming over and over and he was completely helpless –_

- Shit, Alex thought, waking up covered in sweat. That was a new one. There had never been nothing there; there was normally a body or a man (or woman, come to think of it). The emptiness had been frightening, the helplessness indescribable. He shuddered, swinging his body out of bed and traipsing downstairs. Sweat made his pyjamas stick to his skin uncomfortably, but all he wanted was a coffee. He'd have a shower later, at a more sociably acceptable time.

"-holding up?" Alex heard as he approached the kitchen. He froze, recognizing Wolf's voice. He had no desire to interrupt and was about to go back upstairs when another person replied.

"Fine," Eagle said shortly. "I just don't understand why-" his voice broke slightly and he stopped.

Alex moved closer, intrigued. Why what? And why was Eagle so upset? It had to be to do with the meeting at the Bank earlier.

"I know," Wolf replied heavily. Alex crept even nearer to the kitchen door, hiding just out of sight. He couldn't see either of them, and hoped that was true for them too.

"It hasn't even been six months since he-"

"Eagle," Wolf said, his voice quiet enough that Alex strained to hear it. "You know why."

"Yeah,"

"They think we have an incentive to get the information," Wolf continued, seemingly ignoring Eagle's reply. Alex wondered what he was talking about. What did they need to know? And what incentive?

"Because of Cub," Eagle stated slowly.

"Yeah," Wolf answered, and Alex started. Because of him? Information? Menarc, he concluded finally, his heart feeling heavy. What other information would they need that had to do with him? But Christ, that would be dangerous. By the sound of it, none of them were ready to be in action again – added to the fact that none of them were spies! It wasn't their job to gather information, only to act on it. So why not send Ben?

Oh.

He needed a minder, and individual protection from someone with something invested in him. Just as K-Unit were being sent (somewhere) to gather information because MI6 thought they'd be more successful as they cared for him, Ben was being kept behind because he'd protect him better for the same reason. _Obviously_, he breathed to himself. The only question was where K-Unit were being sent.

"I know it's stupid," Wolf was continuing, and Alex tuned in again. "We're short a member after Leopard-" he stopped suddenly, and Alex wondered who Leopard was.

"You can say it," came Eagle's voice hollowly.

"After Leopard died," Wolf continued briskly, "and we're not exactly in the best of shape, but we can do this, ok? We'll do it for Cub."

Alex felt his throat seize up. Leopard, dead? Wolf, sentimental? The overwhelming knowledge thrust upon him with Wolf's words nearly overcame him. Leopard must have been a team-mate, since the SAS normally worked in units of four. That . . . almost made sense, except: extended leave for a teammate's death? In the SAS death happened fairly frequently. It must've been more traumatic than a simple gunshot wound in a gun fight – as horrible as that sounded. Such was the life of an SAS soldier, where a gunshot is a simple death.

"Ok," Eagle said quietly, and there was the sound of a chair scraping back along the floor. Alex quickly crept upstairs, hoping that neither of them would catch him spying on them. He highly doubted either would appreciate him listening in on such a private conversation. He slid into bed just as he heard Eagle walking up the stairs. The footsteps paused outside his door.

"Night Cub," Eagle said in a low voice, before walking on again. Alex flushed, recognizing that he'd been overly cocky whilst listening in. They might not be spies, but both men were soldiers, and ones good enough to get into the SAS. He was stupid to think they wouldn't have heard him coming downstairs. Either way, he wasn't getting up again. That would just be taking the humiliation too far.

He lay on his bed for the rest of the night, flicking through pages on the internet, reading through textbooks and perusing the random fiction books in his room. Nothing held his interest for long, too caught up in the mystery of K-Unit, but the hours slowly passed. He didn't go back to sleep.

* * *

"You awake Alex?" came Ben's voice through the door at seven o'clock.

"Yes," he replied, getting up and opening the door. Ben smiled warmly at him and wished him a good morning before heading downstairs. He hurried into the shower, noticing that the spare room door was open and the room was empty. Eagle and Snake were either downstairs or out then, he concluded. He mechanically went through the motions of washing his hair and scrubbing his body, erasing the sweat from his earlier dream. Pulling on his school uniform, he towel dried his hair and headed downstairs.

"Morning," he said absently to Ben as he wandered into the kitchen and received an identical reply. There was no sign of any of the soldiers.

"Where is everyone?" he asked curiously, pulling some orange juice out of the fridge and pouring a glass.

"Gone home," Ben replied simply.

Sitting down at the table, Alex continued his questioning. "Why?"

Ben sighed in resignation, as if he knew the conversation would be coming but had wanted to avoid it. "They're getting ready before they go on assignment," Ben said at last. Of course, Alex had already guessed as such, but it was nice to have it confirmed. Now, if only he could find out more . . .

"Where are they going?"

Ben looked at him for a long moment, seeming to weigh up his next words. Alex held his breath, knowing full well that Ben might refuse to tell him, for both his and K-Unit's safety. "Iraq," he said finally, and Alex immediately frowned. Iraq? What was there, apart from Al Qaeda? He wouldn't have thought there would be two terrorist groups in the same country, especially one as unstable as Iraq, but then, what did he really know about how terrorist groups think?

"Why Iraq?" he asked, knowing that he was really pushing Ben but wanting to get as much information as possible.

Ben frowned and looked hard at him. "I think you can guess that," he answered vaguely and Alex got the message. It was connected to him, so therefore Menarc. If it wasn't to do with him, he wouldn't be able to guess. It was simple to communicate without outright statements when you got the hang of it.

Alex nodded, acknowledging Ben's cryptic words. "For how long?"

"As long as it takes." Ben shrugged. "MI6 have agreed to up our security permanently so we should be safe enough."

"Good," Alex replied, looking quickly at his watch. "Crap," he swore when he saw the time. "I need to go," he told Ben, grabbing a piece of bread and stuffing it in his mouth. He ignored the warm feeling that swept through his chest when he saw Ben's approving smile at his actions. He didn't look for Ben's approval, he thought sternly. He ate because he was hungry, that was all.

"I'll just grab the keys," Ben said, hurrying into the hall. Alex followed, picking up his school bag and hoping his books were in there. Ben appeared and they speedily left the house, Alex checking his watch all the way. He didn't want to be late, not when his form tutor had placed such trust in him.

"Are K-Unit, you know, coming back before they go at all?" Alex asked as they neared the school, refusing to meet Ben's eyes.

Ben seemed to understand what he meant. "They'll come home briefly to say goodbye before they leave, yes. They think that'll be around five, so you should be home by then."

Alex nodded, face slightly red. He didn't want to admit that he'd probably miss K-Unit quite a lot when they were gone, and he knew they'd be in a lot of danger whilst away. Not just from Menarc, but from every other dodgy person in Iraq as well – it wasn't exactly a safe place to travel to.

"Here we are," Ben said a couple of minutes later, stopping outside the school gate. "On time, too, I think."

"Yeah," Alex agreed, and thanked him for the lift. He walked briskly through to his form room, greeting his form tutor cheerfully and taking his usual place at the back.

"Cutting it a bit fine, Mr Rider," Mr Davies said, grinning at him.

"Sorry sir," Alex replied light-heartedly. Mr Davies liked to pretend to tell people off, but he hardly ever actually punished people. Most simply did what he asked because he was too nice to annoy.

The day passed achingly slowly, and Alex was aware throughout that it was getting closer and closer to the time when K-Unit would leave and risk injury or death, all for his sake. The guilt already was like a lead weight pressing over his heart, and they hadn't even left. It didn't matter that it was their job, he still felt responsible and he knew he'd feel even worse if anything actually happened.

Finally, _finally, _the end-of-day bell rang and Alex sprung up as soon as his teacher said they were free to leave. The biology teacher was young and relaxed and never held them after the bell, so he was outside and into Ben's car a minute or two after school ended. He hadn't seen Laura that day, but he was too preoccupied to care.

"Good day?" Ben asked as they drove off.

"Alright," Alex replied, shrugging. He stared out of the window and wondered how K-Unit were feeling – nervous, probably. Eagle especially didn't seem to be coping well, although with Snake and Wolf it was harder to tell. Wolf just appeared to act normal, but his concern over Eagle showed how everything wasn't all right.

"The others are coming in fifteen minutes or so, then leaving at half five," Ben offered as they walked into the house.

"Ok," Alex replied. He was about to go upstairs to dump his school stuff when he paused and looked at Ben, wondering how much of a sharing mood he was in. Ben raised an eyebrow at him as he stared.

"Yes?"

"What happened with Leopard?" Alex asked slowly. He knew that Ben would know, but that he would also be reluctant to tell him. With good reason, he supposed. It wasn't really any of his business.

Ben froze slightly, surprise written all over his face. Obviously neither Wolf nor Eagle had told him about the events during the night. "How do you know that name?"

"Wolf mentioned it," Alex said casually, deciding that telling Ben he'd been eavesdropping wasn't the best idea.

"You mean you've been listening in," Ben concluded, and Alex smirked. He should've known Ben would guess where his information came from. He didn't exactly make a habit of having heart-to-hearts with Wolf.

"Might have,"

"Alex," Ben sighed. "What did you hear?"

"Only that Leopard died less than six months ago, and it was probably traumatic," he answered, sitting down on the stair and watching Ben attentively. It seemed like Ben was ready to share.

"Traumatic is right," Ben said quietly. "I don't know the details, but Leopard was separated somehow and captured by insurgents in Afghanistan."

"And the others blame themselves for not being there with him," Alex summarised.

"Something like that," Ben said. "His body was found a few days later, left by the road on one of their regular patrol routes. It was nearly unrecognizable."

Alex shook his head slowly. Despite all he had seen and suffered, the maliciousness of some people still horrified him. It could so easily have been him left by the roadside dead. It was sheer chance he survived. "Found by who?" he asked.

"Eagle, first, I think," Ben said heavily. "Leopard was Eagle's best friend; they were very similar."

"So Eagle feels bad because of that, Wolf feels bad because he is the team leader and should have protected Leopard, and Snake feels bad because he's the medic and could've helped heal him if he was there," Alex guessed and received a confirming nod.

"'Feels bad' is a bit of an understatement, but yes," Ben agreed, moving into the kitchen and putting on the kettle. Alex got the idea that the conversation was over. Fine by him, he'd found out what he wanted to know and had confirmed his original guesses. He picked himself up off the floor and went upstairs into his bedroom, planning on hiding out there to mull the information over. He wasn't disturbed until ten minutes later when Ben called up.

"K-Unit's here!"

"Coming," Alex shouted back, heading down the stairs. K-Unit were there, sombre and quiet with heavy military packs and full army fatigues. He guessed they were going straight off to their assignment together afterwards.

"You alright, Cub?" Wolf asked, dumping his pack down and following the others into the lounge.

"Never been better," he answered sarcastically. "You?"

"Oh, fantastic," Wolf replied and Alex thought he could almost detect humour in that answer. Bizarre.

None of them mentioned K-Unit's impending assignment whilst they sipped at their coffees and teas, instead choosing to watch TV and reminisce about previous experiences. The stories were kept light and funny and Alex ended up laughing along with the retellings, despite not knowing the backgrounds.

All too soon though it hit five thirty and Wolf stood up, placing his mug on the coffee table. Everyone else followed suit and Eagle grew even paler, if possible. He wasn't ready for an assignment; anyone could see that, Alex mused furiously. He hated what MI6 did to people. It wasn't just him they abused.

"We ought to be off," Wolf said quietly.

"Ok," Ben agreed, traipsing after Wolf into the hall where the soldiers collected their bags. There was silence for a couple of minutes as people tried to work out what to say. Heartfelt promises weren't really their sort of thing.

"Good luck," Alex said at last, stepping forward to shake Wolf's hand and then doing the same to Snake and Eagle. He squeezed Eagle's hand in reassurance and felt a slight pressure back.

"Take care of yourselves," Wolf said seriously to Ben and Alex and they promised they would.

"You too, alright?" Ben told him strictly, glaring each of the soldiers in the eye. "We'll see you in a few weeks I hope."

"Definitely," Eagle said, speaking for the first time. "It's a date."

Alex smiled when hearing a little bit of Eagle's personality seep through. "Bye," he wished them as Snake opened the door, grunting goodbyes in his normal fashion. Slowly, they all filtered out and climbed into a car parked outside, presumably the one they'd arrived in. He had no idea where they were going from there, but he would bet his life that their assignment would be dangerous. After all, Iraq and dangerous were pretty much synonymous.

Ben shut the door behind them. Ben and Alex stared at each other, both desperately hoping that it wouldn't be the last they ever saw of K-Unit. The silence in the house threatened to overwhelm them, threatened to bury them deep within their own panic until they couldn't fight their way out. All Alex wanted to do was hide under his covers and sleep the weeks away.

Sadly, as everyone always knows, nothing ever happens the way you want it to.

* * *

_A/N: Shorter than normal, but I wanted to get something out. My life from here on out is going to get hectic again after the summer, but I will try to get another chapter out as soon as possible. _

_If anyone has any questions regarding the British School system, feel free to ask! I forgot to say that last chapter :)_

_Thanks for reading, and please do review! It really helps to motivate me._

_Dreams x_


	14. Loyalty

_DISCLAIMER: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz, not me._

_Warning: There is a couple of harsh swear words in it - do not read if this is offensive to you._

* * *

_'The strength of a family, like the strength of an army, is in its loyalty to each other'_

_(Mario Puzo)_

The house seemed strangely quiet without the soldiers there, even as life continued on as normal for Ben and Alex. Neither slept well, but for once Ben didn't try to push Alex into talking. They both knew the cause of their insomnia, just as they implicitly understood why the other flinched at loud noises and double checked the locks at night. Despite the added MI6 security, they didn't feel nearly as safe as they had with an SAS unit living with them.

"Nearly done?" Ben asked one Sunday, clearing away dirty plates from breakfast and watching Alex struggle with some homework.

"No," Alex sighed in frustration. "It's ridiculous – the questions don't even make sense!"

Ben frowned, reaching out an arm slowly to tilt the paper towards him. Still, the young spy flinched slightly as Ben brushed against him. Time, he reminded himself. That was the best healer. "Argh, history," he said, pulling a face when he saw the question. "Never was my strong point."

"You studied politics," Alex pointed out with a smile, "aren't they very similar?"

Ben shrugged with an easy grin, scrubbing furiously at a saucepan. "Probably why I didn't become a politician."

"Useless," Alex declared, chewing on the end of his pen. Ben didn't know if he was talking about him or the homework, and suspected it didn't really matter.

"What topic is it?" he asked out of curiosity, hearing a distant thud and ignoring it. He was trying to fight the paranoia, not feed it, he told himself.

"I don't even bloody know," Alex grumbled, chucking his pen across the table. "Something to do with Hungary, maybe? Or perhaps Romania?"

"Two very different countries," Ben pointed out helpfully.

"It's good to see the usefulness of your politics degree," Alex said sarcastically. "Obviously, they're two different countries. Twit."

"Hey! rude!" Ben exclaimed jokingly, hearing yet another thud. This time Alex looked up too, their eyes meeting in a quick flash of acknowledgement. The conversation stopped. Neighbours, Ben said firmly to himself, just like the million other times you've heard noises. But he couldn't quite suppress the little voice that whispered: what if it's not? What if it's real this time?

Alex stood up slowly, quietly, his face grim. Ben tried to smile reassuringly, but guessed it probably didn't work when the young spy's expression didn't change. There were no more noises.

That's because it's neighbours_, _he told himself. Or because they're in position, the small voice hissed.

_Rinnggg, rinnggg. Rinnnggg, rinnggg. Rinng-_

Ben snatched up the phone after a couple of seconds, both he and Alex frozen from surprise. The outside noises were forgotten – and Ben told himself that he had just been paranoid.

"Hello?"

"Mr Daniels?" a voice asked levelly.

"Who is this?" Ben replied sharply and saw Alex glance at him. He shook his head slightly and twitched his lips upwards to stop Alex worrying. He knew it wouldn't work.

"We would greatly appreciate it if you could come down to the Bank at your earliest convenience to discuss matters concerning your charge's account. He may come with you."

Ben sighed, chewing his bottom lip. He knew there was no choice. "Of course," he answered heavily. "We'll be down shortly."

The voice on the other end hung up. Ben looked at Alex and tried to smile.

"The Bank?" Alex asked, his voice even.

"Yeah," Ben replied, moving over to the sink to empty the water out. "Grab your shoes, we'll go now."

"Thank God," Alex muttered, shutting his history book with a snap.

"Thought you hated going to the bank?" Ben remarked absently, drying his hands on a tea towel and wandering into the hall.

"I do," Alex answered, following him out of the kitchen. "But I think I might hate history even more."

"Wow," Ben laughed, "you'll have to tell Blunt that – he'll love it. He's no longer public enemy number one."

Alex smirked. "He was never number one, that was reserved for the person trying to kill me at that point in time. Two or three though, definitely."

Ben shook his head, smiling, as he pulled on a pair of shoes. "You seen the keys?" he asked, changing the subject.

"No," Alex called from further down the hall, where he was attempting to find some shoes under a pile of bags.

"Hmm," Ben mused, "problem . . ." He looked around the hall, racking his brains. He spotted a glimpse of silver under an old letter and grinned. He snatched the keys up and waited for Alex to be ready.

"Driving or train?" Alex questioned when they left the house.

"Train, I reckon," Ben replied, thinking of the rush hour traffic and congestion charge. "Alright with that?" he asked, looking hard at Alex. He didn't want to make the young spy uncomfortable and knew that the trains would be very busy.

Alex nodded. Ben stopped walking and gently reached out to hold his chin. "Don't just agree with me, Alex," he sighed. "Tell me honestly now; are you ok with getting the train? Or would you prefer we drive?" He made his voice softer, more honest. "I don't mind either way, I promise you."

Alex looked uncomfortable and didn't meet Ben's eyes. He knew that Alex had issues with close contact and hated being fully open with someone, but he had to _try_.

"Trains are fine," the teenager said quietly. "But- But can we not go on the tube?"

Ben let go of his chin, smiling slightly to encourage the fidgety spy. "That's fine," Ben said. "We'll walk from the train station."

Alex lowered his head in agreement. "Thanks," he muttered, looking awkward.

"You know your way to the station?" Ben asked, resuming his fast pace and checking to see if Alex was keeping up – which, of course, he was.

"Yep,"

"Lead on," Ben said, with an extravagant gesture in front of him. Alex swatted him lightly and walked ahead. This way, Ben could keep an eye on any potential danger and also let Alex set the pace. He didn't want him straining his leg again. Actually, thinking about it, he probably wasn't even supposed to be walking on it this much. Oh well, Ben thought, it's better than him having a panic attack on the tube.

* * *

The journey passed smoothly. The train, thank god, wasn't packed to the brim as often it can be but left plenty of room for standing. Ben watched Alex carefully but he didn't seem to be having any difficulties and gradually he relaxed. They arrived at the Royal and General bank within good time and were soon escorted up to a room where both Blunt and Jones were waiting for them.

"Alex, Agent Daniels," Mrs Jones greeted them and Ben hid his surprise at her informal addressing of his charge. For a normally hard-hearted woman, that was positively sentimental. Alex, however, showed no reaction. He was either used to it or a good actor. Or both, Ben mused.

"Mrs Jones, Mr Blunt," Ben said, inclining his head in acknowledgement. Alex plonked down in a chair with a scowl at both the heads of MI6, but Ben felt that at least one of them should be polite.

"Sit down, Daniels," Jones said briskly and Ben did as ordered.

"We're here to discuss security arrangements," Blunt said evenly. "With the SAS unit gone, we need to ensure you're fully protected."

Alex snorted. Blunt looked at him.

"Yes, Alex?" Jones asked, raising an eyebrow. Ben wanted to cover Alex's mouth to stop whatever sassy thing he had to say, but figured Alex would end up biting his hand or something.

"Why now?" Alex said. "You have never given a shit about protection for me, so why start now?"

"We have, Alex, we assigned an SAS unit to you-"

"That doesn't count," Alex said dismissively, waving a hand. Ben sighed. Alex was spoiling for a fight; that was obvious.

"Then explain to us what you want us to do," Jones said calmly.

"I want you to stop pretending you care a jot about me," Alex snapped back. "I want you to be bloody honest for once in my life."

"Alex," Ben said quietly, reaching across to touch his arm. Alex jerked away, his body flinching ever so slightly. Too intimate, Ben cursed himself. Touch was going to get him nowhere.

But, surprisingly, it did. Alex looked at him, breathing slightly unsteady, and sat back in his chair.

"Fine," the teenager said, demonstrating his age group's typical mood swings. "Explain these arrangements to me."

Jones looked marginally relieved, in Ben's opinion, but the difference in her expression was so slight it was hard to tell.

"There are agents around your house," Blunt said, acting as if nothing had occurred since he'd last spoken. His face hadn't changed throughout the exchange. "We'll have agents tail you if you leave and accompany you to and from school."

"No way," Alex said immediately.

"They'll be discreet, I promise you," Jones added in reassurance. "You won't be able to tell they're there."

Alex frowned but subsided.

"Will we meet these agents?" Ben asked, wondering if they'd be living in the house some of the time like K Unit had done.

"Unlikely," Jones said shortly. "They'll watch the house and you in shifts but won't come inside unless necessary."

"So how will I contact them if there is a problem?" Ben frowned.

"There are people in your house setting up panic buttons as we speak," Jones said. "Press them if you think there's trouble and it will send an alert to us and to the agent's head pieces. They'll react accordingly."

"How do you know we can trust them?" Alex asked cuttingly, his face hard. Jones and Blunt glanced at each other and Ben leaned forward. Something was going on there.

Just then, the phone on the desk rang. Jones picked it up, listening in silence. "Bring it up," she said finally, placing the phone back down. "I apologise," she said to Ben and Alex. "This is vitally important but it will be brief."

A knock came at the door and a man hurried in. He handed several papers over to Mrs Jones, murmuring something to her. Jones nodded. Ben couldn't hear what he was saying, but evidently, Alex had heard or seen something because he shifted forwards in his seat to get a better look. Mrs Jones placed the papers in a drawer.

"What is that?" Alex demanded and Ben wanted to hit himself. Alex's fighting mood had presumably not disappeared.

"You know I can't tell you that, Alex," Jones replied.

"That has something to do with Iraq," Alex insisted, and despite himself Ben found himself leaning forwards.

"You do not know what you're talking about," Blunt said firmly.

"I know you just received vitally important information about Iraq, and I know that both K Unit and Menarc are there," Alex snapped.

"If it concerns K Unit I want to know too," Ben added, receiving a faint smile from Alex for his support.

"It doesn't concern either of you," Blunt said, refusing to budge.

"K Unit concerns me," Alex said hotly. "Menarc concerns me. They tortured me for months, Blunt, and you won't give me the information you have on them?"

Jones' expression seemed to waver. Alex appeared to spot this and continued.

"They permanently injured my leg," he said quietly, but fiercely. "They have given me scars all over my body. They have torn apart my mind and left me so messed up I may never be able to live normally again." Ben wanted to shut his eyes and hide from the brutal honesty that was coming from Alex. "Now, _give me the information I need to bring them down._"

"It isn't your job-" Jones started to say, but Blunt stopped her with a raised hand. He looked mildly interested.

"Attachments, Alex, are not a good thing," he said curiously, cutting to the heart of the matter. Ben wanted to scream at him, wanted to yell to stop him ruining any progress he may have made with Alex on that front.

"I need that information," Alex said steadily, and Ben wanted to sigh with relief that Alex would not be so easily manipulated – a fact he should not have even doubted.

Blunt sat back in his chair and smiled without amusement. "We have a spy in Menarc, as you know." Alex and Ben nodded. "They have managed to pass information to us concerning Menarc's future plans. Just four words were all he could send."

"And they are?"

"Iraq, Afghanistan, Britain, and Tolo," Jones said calmly.

"What does that mean?" Ben asked in frustration.

"We don't really know."

"What's Tolo?" Alex asked shrewdly. "It sounds like a name of some sort."

"An oil company, isn't it?" Ben interjects. He'd vaguely heard the name before and thought it had something to do with fuel. He couldn't see much of a link however, nor why it would have been important enough for the spy to mention.

"That's right," Mrs Jones said. "It's a large petroleum company operating in Afghanistan."

Blunt sat forward, having been content simply to watch the proceedings. "There's no link between Tolo and Menarc as far as we can find, unfortunately. We've got people investigating-"

"That's what K-Unit are doing, right?" Alex interrupted.

"We can't tell you that, Alex," Mrs Jones said, her lips thinning. "You know it's confidential."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Fine," he huffed, "I don't need you to confirm it. I just need to know if K-Unit are likely to be hurt."

"Alex," Ben said in a low voice, wanting to offer some reassurance but unsure how to go about it. He was just as worried about the soldiers as Alex and didn't want to lie to him.

Alex didn't even look at him.

"We can't guarantee that," Blunt said in disinterest, shuffling through some papers on his desk with a frown. Mrs Jones shifted slightly in her seat.

"Then know that I am _done _with you if anything happens to them," Alex snapped, and Ben didn't doubt his sincerity.

"They are members of the SAS, Alex," Mrs Jones answered in a reasonable tone. "They knew what they were signing up for."

"The SAS don't normally mix with MI6 though," Ben pointed out. "This assignment is your fault, and yours only."

Mrs Jones frowned. Blunt, as normal, stayed emotionless. "It makes no difference who you blame, Alex, it changes nothing about your situation."

Ben felt marginally confused. What situation?

"I think my situation is very much changed, actually," Alex said dangerously.

Blunt's lips twitched in an imitation of a smile. "I don't see the difference," he said, and did Ben imagine the deliberate flick of his eyes over to him?

Alex froze.

"Alan," Mrs Jones said urgently, furiously. "We talked about this-"

What was going on? Ben wondered, feeling utterly out of his depth.

Alex slowly, deliberately, raised his middle finger and swore at Blunt. Mrs Jones looked taken aback; Blunt showed no reaction.

"Screw you and your fucking power games, Blunt," he said harshly, standing up swiftly and leaving the room. Ben jumped after him, giving the silent heads of MI6 a distrustful look as he left the room, hurrying to catch up with the young spy. He may not have understood exactly what went on there, but he knew that it was nothing good.

"Would you like to explain what went on in there?" Ben asked when he caught up with Alex. Alex sighed deeply, feeling anger throb through his body in time with his heartbeat. He couldn't believe the nerve of Blunt, threatening him like that, using Ben against him when the man in question sat there completely ignorant of what was going on.

"Not really," Alex said shortly, his voice tight. "Blunt's a power-hungry bastard, but what else is new?"

Ben smiled slightly in response to his words. "I'm pretty sure I was missing a vital part of that conversation though."

"Unimportant," Alex dismissed, unwilling to discuss the situation when nothing would change it. Blunt would always have power over him, in some way or another. He might as well just resign himself to working for SIS for as long as he lived – however short a time that may be.

"Somehow I didn't get that impression," Ben shot back, seeming to be unhappy to let the topic drop. "Might have something to do with your parting words."

Alex looked away, catching the eye of a receptionist who looked down when she saw him. "I- I lost control slightly," he admitted quietly, hating himself even as he said it. He never lost control, not even when being tortured.

"You seemed pretty upset," Ben said gently, leading them through the door into the street.

Alex shrugged, glancing around to check the street out of habit. Nothing out of the ordinary. "It's not a problem, honestly."

"Seemed like one,"

"Drop it, Ben, ok?" Alex snapped, getting fed up with the invasive questions. Ben shut up with a scowl and Alex knew they'd be revisiting the subject later on. For the moment, they got on the train in silence and only spoke minimally the rest of the journey.

* * *

"Nearly home," were the first words Ben uttered when they stepped off the train. Alex nodded jerkily, beginning to feel bad for his sharp words earlier. He wasn't going to apologise though, it was really none of Ben's business.

"Psychiatrist tomorrow, remember?" Ben said absently, placing his oyster card on the machine and listening to it beep. Alex did the same but frowned when he saw the small amount of money left on his. This was the first time he'd really used it for months and was honestly surprised it still had anything on it at all. It had been retrieved from his old house along with several other items he had requested from Ben. He hadn't wanted to go himself.

"Yeah," Alex said, acknowledging Ben's words before changing the subject. "I need to get more money on this," he said, holding up his oyster card.

"We'll go do that then," Ben replied, then looked at the card a bit closer. He snatched it out of Alex's hands. "Lovely picture," he said, laughing.

"Shut up," Alex pouted, relieved that the tension from earlier had dissolved. "I was eleven, give me a break!"

"Such gorgeous dimples," Ben said, smirking. Alex whacked him round the shoulder and took the card back.

"Git," he muttered, following Ben into the newsagents they had reached and handing over the card to the man at the till.

Ben handed over the money to put on the card and Alex wondered if he should volunteer to pay. It wasn't as if he didn't have the money.

As if sensing the thoughts forming in Alex's head, Ben spoke. "I don't mind paying for you," he said quietly as the man printed out a receipt. "You're my charge, after all."

Alex ignored the warmth spreading in his chest at that simple statement and said nothing in reply. Ben smiled kindly at him and handed back the oyster card.

"Thanks," Alex told the man behind the counter as they left the shop. The man raised a hand in goodbye and Ben and Alex continued on home.

"School tomorrow, then," Ben said when they were close to his house, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," replied Alex, unsure of how he felt about that. The work load was awful, but at the same time it was nice to get away for a little. He liked being able to forget about his teammates in Iraq and the danger lurking in the shadows, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Done your homework?"

"Do you have to act so bloody parental?" Alex grumbled good-naturedly, thinking of the pile of work on his desk. It wasn't that he didn't try to do it, he _did, _but it was bloody difficult to catch up on months' worth of work in a few weeks by himself.

"Is that a no then?" Ben asked amusedly, opening the front door.

"Something like that," Alex sighed, kicking off his shoes and shutting the door behind him. "When's dinner?"

"What am I, your mother?"

"What are you, twelve?" Alex retorted, grinning. He walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a drink and watched Ben lean up against the side.

"Something like that," Ben mimicked in a high pitched voice and Alex kicked him in the shin.

"Ow!" Ben exclaimed comically, hopping on the spot. "Abuse! Abuse!"

"Go call Childline then," Alex said with a grin, handing him the phone. Ben dumped it on the side, standing still again.

"Tempting, but no," he replied, turning to the fridge and rummaging through it.

"What's for dinner, then?" Alex asked, hopping onto the side and staring at Ben's back. The scene was so domestic that Alex wanted to laugh, but it had become his life recently, in between the worry and MI6.

"Hmm," Ben deliberated. "We have . . . mouldy cheese?" He held up a distinctly green looking object and Alex shook his head. "Gone-off milk?" Ben tried again, placing the cheese on the side.

"Anything edible?" Alex questioned, trying not to giggle in a very un-manlike way.

"Could maybe make some scrambled eggs," Ben said, picking out an egg and cracking it into a mug on the side. He sniffed it and grimaced. "Or maybe not."

"Pizza then," Alex summarised.

"Looks like it," Ben said, grinning, and he reached for the phone.

* * *

An hour and a half later, both were sufficiently full from the crappy food they'd consumed. Two empty pizza boxes lay on the floor in front of them as well as glasses of fizzy drinks and beer, in Ben's case. Despite Alex's protests, Ben hadn't allowed him any. It was ridiculous, he thought, that he was old enough to spy and kill people, but he couldn't possible have alcohol.

Alex sighed contentedly as the adverts came on at the end of a trashy programme they'd been watching. He shifted to his feet and stretched before bending down to pick up his rubbish. "I'm going to go upstairs," he told Ben who simply nodded, not making any effort to move. Alex wandered through into the kitchen and dumped the rubbish in the bin before lazily making his way upstairs.

He sat in front of his computer for a couple of minutes wondering what to do before he figured he might as well follow up on the earlier meeting. He pulled up Google and wrote:

_Iraq and Afghanistan_

He knew very little about the two countries other than the wars going on there. He guessed it would probably be best to gather as much info as possible; you never knew what might be helpful. The results from Google weren't very informative, however. The top results were all about war veterans and similar topics. Interesting, but not what he wanted.

He revised his search, entering the two countries separately and clicking on the Central Intelligence Agency page for each, copying and pasting them into a word document. There, he looked at the two countries and compared them. They were both in a similar geographical location; both had similar climates and a similar political and governmental history. In fact, there was little interesting information on the site to find. He noted that both had a plentiful supply of natural resources, particularly petroleum and natural gas, and could see why the countries were interesting for investing companies. There was a higher percentage of Sunni Muslims in Afghanistan than there was in Iraq, where more Shias lived, but he didn't believe that was particularly relevant. The problem was that, with so little information, he really had no idea what to look at even, or what was important.

Searching for Tolo in Google came up with little else, just rubbish about its 'global operations' and 'social responsibilities' – the same stuff that all transnational companies put on their websites. Interestingly, there was no mention of any petroleum or natural gas operations in Iraq, only in Afghanistan. Either they weren't admitting to their work there publically, or Iraq was not connected to Tolo at all, despite what the message suggested. It was strange, considering the large amount of natural resources in both countries, but not necessarily suspicious.

Sighing, he logged off his laptop and put it on his desk. He swiftly changed into his pyjamas, inspecting his leg wound briefly before tugging his bottoms over them. It had settled down so that it was no longer red and inflamed, but the wound still looked nasty. He had meant what he said to MI6: his leg was going to bother him for the rest of his life. The muscle would always be prone to injury and he would have to be careful not to overstretch it. Menarc had crippled him in more ways than one.

He headed downstairs to grab a mug of decaf coffee before going to bed. Once downstairs, he poked his head into the lounge and told Ben he was going to sleep, who smiled and wished him goodnight. He carefully carried his mug upstairs, sipping it all the while. Minutes later, he placed the empty mug on the desk and slid under his duvet, switching off the lights. He lay there in the dark, the four words of the spy's message circling through his head. Try as he might, he couldn't see the link to Menarc.

Hours later, he slipped into an uneasy sleep. Oil-like substances and laughing faces dominated his dreams, until he woke, at five am, knowing that something was going to go wrong.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the little cliffhanger, and sorry for the long wait you've all had. Thanks for the support I have been receiving though - over 200 reviews! I'm over the moon :)_

_If anyone not British reading this is getting a bit confused at any point (British education system, oyster cards etc) just write me a message and I'm happy to explain._

_Hopefully I'll get another chapter up within a few weeks, but life is very hectic at the moment and room to breathe is scarce. Changes, however, will never be abandoned, despite the slow updates. Next chapter may even have some action in it!_

_Please pen a quick review to tell me what you think - feedback of any sort is always appreciated._

_Dreams x_


	15. Metaphorical

_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz, not me. The poem is 'We Remember Your Childhood Well' and is the property of Carol Ann Duffy._

* * *

_'The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist'_

_(Charles Bauldaire)_

Don't be stupid, he told himself firmly, swinging his legs off the side of his bed and shaking off the foreboding feeling. He had no time for ridiculous premonitions or anything else when there were very real dangers chasing after him.

But still, the clinging, anxious feeling hung over him as he lethargically prepared for school. It was like carrying a lead weight around with him and even Ben noticed the difference.

"You alright?" he asked in concern over breakfast. "Bad night?"

Alex wondered what to tell him, and settled on being vague. There was no need to worry Ben just because he had a 'bad feeling' about the day. "Something like that," he replied, shrugging. He didn't look up from his coffee.

"They'll be home soon, hopefully," Ben said in reassurance, obviously assuming that Alex was still worried about the absence of K Unit. And he was, truly, but he didn't think this leaden worry pressing down on his chest was anything to do with his unit – or, at least, he hoped not. He suspected it was somewhat closer to home. It's nothing, he tried to tell himself. You're getting worked up for no reason whatsoever. But trying to ignore the feeling was harder than he would've guessed.

Alex nodded and said, "I know." Both of them had been trying to remain positive, despite knowing the odds of one of them getting hurt in that godforsaken, war-torn country. He stood up. "I need to go," he said, changing the subject completely. A day at school would in theory take his mind off things – particularly if Laura was there. She was confusing enough to hold his interest for a short time even if he would never conceive of taking it further, both because he couldn't put her in danger like that and because he thought of her as simply a friend. An odd one, yes, but a friend nevertheless.

Ben stood up, stretching, and carried his bowl over to the side. "Let me just grab my car keys," he said absently.

"Can I not walk?" Alex asked, knowing as he spoke that it was in vain. It didn't matter whether he had agents following him or not, Ben was not letting anything happen to him. It should make him feel comforted, secure, like nothing could touch him- but truly he could not shake off the feeling that no matter what, today was the day. It was stupid, so bloody freaking stupid, but he couldn't get the thought out of his head.

Ben laughed slightly. "No," he said bluntly. "I don't mind driving you."

Alex huffed, but decided it wasn't worth the fight. "Let's go then."

He followed Ben into the hallway and, like so many mornings before, grabbed his school bag and shoes. He debated whether to run upstairs and get his homework but couldn't be bothered. He didn't need to do the homework; he'd been told by Ben and the school to take it easy for these last two weeks of term, but he'd chosen to attempt it anyway. They weren't going to blame him if he hadn't gotten it done, although his classmates might be even more pissed off at him. He could see their point of view; they worked bloody hard to get everything done and be prepared for their GCSE year whilst he just waltzed in, didn't do homework, hardly turned up for school, and didn't even get in trouble for it. He'd hate himself too if he was in their position.

Ben shut the door behind them and Alex looked around, trying to spot the elusive MI6 men guarding their house. He couldn't see anyone, although he did notice a lovely new camera across the road focused on their front garden. He smiled cheekily at it, and saw Ben grin at him when the man realised what he was doing.

"Think Blunt's watching?" the older man whispered.

"I hope so," Alex replied as he flipped his middle finger at the camera. Ben swatted at his hand but couldn't help laughing.

"Honestly," he said, opening the car door and climbing in. "You are such a teenager."

"I am a teenager," Alex answered, dumping his bag down in front of him and pulling his seat belt across him.

"Sometimes I forget," Ben said quietly. The jokey atmosphere froze. Alex turned his head away, unwilling to enter the serious conversation that he knew Ben was leading up to.

Ben sighed, obviously recognizing the gesture for what it was. "I do worry about you, Alex," he said, only half concentrating on the road.

"I know," Alex said shortly.

"I wish you'd tell me what was going on in that meeting yesterday," Ben said, a note of frustration in his voice.

Alex wished he'd let it go. "I was in a bad mood, Blunt pissed me off, and I ended up losing it slightly. End of story."

"What did he do to piss you off?" Ben asked. "You seemed to be speaking in code. All that stuff about your 'situation'. What does that mean?"

"It means," Alex snapped back, fed up with the questioning, "that Blunt is an arse and was just reminding me how crappy my situation is."

Ben sighed again, sounding like an old man. Alex felt slightly guilty at his short-temperedness, but the man never knew when to let it go. "Why do you never trust me?" he muttered, so quietly that Alex figured he wasn't mean to have heard. The guilty feeling rose again, but they pulled into the side road by the school before he could work up the courage to say anything.

"Bye," he said roughly, shouldering his bag and stepping out of the car.

"See you later," Ben said, obviously trying not to let any frustration leak into his voice.

Alex paused before he shut the door. The worry crept back up again; his heart felt heavy and he suddenly couldn't bear to lose sight of Ben. Ben, in his mind, equalled safety.

"I-" he started to say, then stopped. He had no idea how to vocalise what was going through his head. "I'll see you at four," he said lamely, stepping back from the car.

"Have fun at school, ok?" Ben answered, an easy smile playing around his lips. He sounded so parental that Alex couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry – he'd never had anyone really act like it before.

"I will," he replied, eventually shutting the car door. Ben watched him through the windows as he turned and made his way towards the school. He looked back once and waved. Dread accosted him as Ben pulled away. _Don't leave me here, _he wanted to say.

* * *

"Morning Alex," Laura greeted him cheerfully as she wandered into the classroom and sat next to him. He smiled genuinely at her; like always, he had been the first in the room, heading straight there when he got into school. Mr Davis knew him well by now and always turned up to form time at least ten minutes early so Alex could go straight in. The man never spoke about it but Alex was grateful for the understanding the teacher displayed.

"Morning," he replied, the leaden weight lessening only slightly at her smile.

"Bad night?" she said sympathetically, after looking at him closely. He snorted. What was it with people and being too bloody observant for their own good?

"What?" she asked in defence, hearing his snort.

"Nothing," he said, "you're just not the first person to ask me that today."

"Might be because you look like you're going to the gallows," she said absently, pulling out her chemistry book. "Done the homework?" she asked.

Alex didn't look at her. "No," he answered.

"Huh," she sniffed. "Do mine then, save me the trouble."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "I wasn't able to do my own, so now I have to do yours?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded, passing her homework over to him expectantly.

"No," he said simply, pushing the homework back.

"Yes," she replied, slapping the work down in front of him.

"No,"

"Yes,"

"No-" Alex started again, then sighed in frustration. "Are we seriously doing this?"

"Doing what?" she asked him, feigning ignorance.

He picked up the homework and put it on the empty desk in the next row in front of him. "Go away," he told her.

"No," she immediately stated.

"Oh for God's sake you drive me mad," he exclaimed, but couldn't help the smile escaping.

"Cheered you up though, didn't I?" she sung happily, snatching back her homework from where he'd dumped it and lurching from the seat. She waved and shuffled back to the front of the room where she sat on top of desk next to a giggly girl who Alex had yet to learn her name. Why she couldn't sit on the chair he didn't know; she probably just liked the attention.

"Right, you lot, be quiet," Mr Davis said from the front of the classroom. "Laura, off the table," he added with a sigh.

"But it's so much more comfortable, sir!" she protested, although she did as he asked anyway.

"Well then, you obviously need some more padding on your backside if you can't sit on the chair," the teacher returned smartly, garnering a laugh from the class. "Right, register," he said, shuffling some papers around on the desk and letting out a triumphant 'ha!' when he found it. He read through the names in a monotonous voice, even faking a snore every now and then. The class, as had become tradition, fell silent when Alex's name was reached and he answered 'yes, sir' quietly. The attention was unnerving.

"Done," Mr Davis said with a smile, slapping the register down on his desk. "Do what you will now, I don't care," he told them, turning away to log onto the computer. People immediately began chatting, the noise level rapidly increasing.

"Christ," Mr Davis snapped, although his lips were twitching. "Are you lot incapable of doing anything without screaming at each other?"

The class looked at each other. Alex, by himself at the back, didn't even bother paying attention.

"Not really, sir, no," one smart-arse boy replied. "We're teenagers, it's what we do."

The rage that coursed through Alex had no real origin, except perhaps the nonchalance the boy spoke about being loud. For Alex, silence was a necessity; one small noise could give him – and his freedom – away. He turned his head away, desperately trying not to show his emotions to anyone else and attempting to quell the anger. He _hated _this, hated that he couldn't be normal, that he couldn't act like every other teenager had a bloody right to act.

"Not every teenager acts like you," Mr Davis said, his voice still light-hearted. But Alex detected a slight flickering of his eyes over to him and he deliberately angled his body towards the wall. Mr Davis might not know what was going on in his life, but he had noticed how it was affecting him.

"All the normal ones do, sir," the boy replied, and Alex most definitely did see the look the boy shot at him. Seemed like the rumours surrounding him had reached the year below, then.

"And what defines normal then, Luke?"

"Seriously, sir?" A girl interrupted. "Do we have to do the whole philosophical thing at eight-thirty in the morning?"

Alex thoroughly agreed. Philosophy had its place, yes, but not this early when frankly it hurt to think.

"Honestly, you lot," Mr Davis grinned. "Fine, then, go off to your first lesson. The bell's about to go."

His prediction rang true just that moment, and Alex winced at the loud clatter. The talking started up again as everyone gathered up their things. He grabbed his bag, pulled out his phone, and resigned himself to another full day of lessons.

- Save me – he texted Tom.

- Haha, unlucky sod – came the reply.

- Screw you – Alex sent back quickly, realising that the sympathy he'd been looking for wouldn't be coming from Tom. Though, quite honestly, he was amazed Tom was awake considering he had an extended summer holiday after his GCSEs.

- Love you too honey – Tom texted back, and Alex shook his head at the utter ridiculousness of his friend.

- The feeling's not mutual -

- Hey! – Tom sent back immediately.

- Whatever, g2g –Alex texted, putting the phone back into his pocket as he walked into his first lesson of the day. As the English teacher called for everyone to settle down, he rubbed his face with his hands and tried to focus his mind. It didn't work; no matter what, he couldn't seem to concentrate. Every movement was a potential sniper, every noise a gunshot. Paranoia filled his entire body until he couldn't help but flinch whenever someone spoke.

"Alex, are you paying attention?" the teacher barked at him, and Alex tried, and failed, to refocus on the lesson.

"Yes miss," he promised, despite not knowing what the lesson had been about.

"Care to explain your views on Duffy's use of metaphors in this poem?" the teacher asked, raising a sheet at the front of the class. He looked around, but couldn't even find the copy of the poem on his desk.

"Um, I don't think I have the sheet, miss," he said quietly, flushing when the class laughed.

"We are ten minutes into the lesson, Alex, and you've only just realised you don't have the sheet?"

"Um, yes? Sorry miss," he replied sheepishly, looking down at the desk. Murmurs started up around him.

_What an idiot._

_Rider's such a freak._

"See me after class, ok, Alex?" the teacher said in resignation, laying a copy of the poem in front of him. "Read through this quickly and I'll come back to you in one minute."

Alex nodded, scanning the poem.

"Right, Melissa, what do you think the main theme of the poem is?" the teacher asked, heading back to the front of the classroom. The girl quickly began spouting off the normal rubbish and Alex tried to concentrate on the words before him.

'_What you recall are impressions; we have the facts. We called the tune._

_The secret police of your childhood were older and wiser than you, bigger_

_than you. Call back the sound of their voices. Boom. Boom. Boom'_

Alex tried to repress a shiver. The words swam in his head; the fourth stanza captivated him. _'The secret police of your childhood' . . . 'Nobody left the skidmarks of sin on your soul'._

"Alex?" the teacher interrupted his thoughts. "Have you got an answer?"

Alex racked his brains for the question. "Can you repeat the question?" he asked in embarrassment.

"What do you think of Duffy's use of metaphors?" said the teacher, raising her voice over the muttering off the class. "Why do you think they are used?"

"Um, there's a lot of violent metaphors?" he answered, a question in his voice. English wasn't his strong point.

"Good," the teacher accepted. "An example?"

"Duffy talks about the 'secret police' which were always known for being violent," Alex replied, warming to his theme. "Secret police were a feature of dictatorships such as the USSR and so it implies that the parents acted like dictators."

"Nice idea," the teacher said in approval, then turned to the rest of the class. "What other examples of violence do we have in the poem?" she asked. "Yes, Harry?"

"The repetition of the word 'Boom' is very violent – it sounds like a gunshot."

Alex flinched, hearing gunshots echoing around his head. This discussion was doing nothing for his mental state.

'_secret police' 'Boom. Boom. Boom.'_

Stop it, he told himself. Get a hold of yourself. He dropped his eyes to the paper in front of him and ignored the rest of the class. The teacher, thank God, didn't call on him again that lesson.

When the bell rang to signal the end of the period, he traipsed up to the front of the classroom. The teacher looked up from her desk and smiled at him.

"Take a seat," she said gently. "I'll write a note for your next lesson."

He did as she asked, despite knowing that he really couldn't afford to miss any more of his classes, note or not.

"You seem to be really struggling, Alex," she said, looking at him seriously. "Is it just English you're finding hard, or is it just school in general? I could find you some help."

"No, no, it's fine, miss," he struggled to reassure her. The last thing he wanted was some do-gooder teacher getting entangled in his life. "I'm just very tired today; I'll concentrate better tomorrow."

"That's not really the point," she answered. "I've been concerned about you since you first started. You struggle to pay attention and seem to be very anxious."

Alex lowered his head. "I'm alright, miss," he said again. "I'm getting a tutor over the summer who will catch me up to speed."

"It's not just the work you've missed that you'll need help with, Alex," she continued. "I really think you need to work on your concentration."

"I will," he answered, but she didn't seem to listen.

"I think you need to talk to someone," she said in a soft tone, as if she thought he'd freak out at her. Which was, he supposed, very tempting. Who was she to butt her nose into his business?

_She's concerned, _a small voice whispered in his mind. _It's her job to care about her students._

"I have a psychiatrist," he said in a low tone, hating the way his voice cracked slightly over the admission. "To, you know, help me over my uncle's death and everything."

"I'm glad," she said, smiling slightly in relief. "Is it helping?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he said, "but it's going to take a while for me to-to fully get over it and stuff."

"Of course," she replied, pulling a piece of paper over to her. "Well, I'm happy that you're getting some help, Alex."

He nodded jerkily, grateful that she seemed to have finished bothering him.

"If you ever need anything though," the teacher continued. "Don't hesitate to come to me, alright?"

He nodded again, feeling somewhat like one of those annoying nodding dogs. "Thanks, miss."

She passed the note over to him and he glanced down. Her name was Miss Bruce. Interesting.

"Have a good day," she said, standing up and collecting her books together. He did the same, following her out of the classroom and muttering a goodbye as he turned the opposite direction. He checked his timetable quickly. History. Oh, joy.

* * *

The rest of the morning passed relatively without incident. He skipped lunch, unwilling to fight the paranoia in the packed lunch hall. Instead, he spent his break and lunch in the library, finding solace in the silence. It didn't stop the flinches, but it reduced the frequency of the flashbacks floating in front of his mind. Today was a bad day, he decided. Maybe he should call Ben. No, he told himself, don't be weak.

It wasn't until double Chemistry that he had any issues. He sat next to Laura in the lesson; nerves making him jiggle his foot. The teacher had it in for him; the man had taken it as a personal insult that Alex had missed so many of his lessons. He didn't believe Alex deserved any special treatment at all, and wouldn't be impressed that Alex hadn't done the homework, despite being told by the headmaster that he wasn't expected to this term.

"Right, homework on the desk," the man called as soon as he walked into the classroom. The man was strict, gruff, and you didn't want to get on his bad side. However Alex secretly admired the man; he might not be nice, but he was a fantastic teacher. He took no nonsense but managed to make his lessons interesting enough that no one grew bored. Alex had learnt a lot from him.

The man walked around the room, collecting homework as he went. No one spoke. When he reached Alex and Laura, she handed over a roughly scribbled piece of work that she'd obviously done at lunch. He frowned, but said nothing.

"Homework, Rider?" he asked, an eyebrow raised when he saw nothing on the desk.

"I haven't done it, sir," Alex replied calmly, knowing that no apologies would improve his situation.

"Why not?" the man asked dangerously.

"I haven't had a chance, sir," Alex said, meeting the man's eyes. A Chemistry teacher no longer had the power to frighten him.

"You and I are going to have issues," the teacher stated. "I want the homework in for tomorrow morning, understood? Anymore problems and it'll be detention."

"Yes sir," Alex answered, resigning himself to another late night struggling with homework. He didn't think it was worth the effort to complain about the man to the headmaster. It would only make the situation worse.

"Ok," the man called to the rest of the class. "Textbooks out, we're going to make some notes on acidity today."

"He really hates you," Laura said, smirking. Alex nodded, unwilling to reply and risk further trouble. He grabbed his bag and searched for his textbook. Shit, he thought desperately when he couldn't find it. He searched harder, pulling out all of his books just to make sure. Where the hell was it? A sudden image of his desk in his room filled his head, and he could just picture the book there. He'd been using it last night, and had blatantly forgotten to put it in his bag. Bloody hell.

"Everyone got their textbook open?" the teacher asked, scanning the room. He stopped when he saw Alex sitting there, staring at the table in an attempt not to be noticed. The man sighed. "Where's your textbook, Rider?"

"At home, sir, sorry," Alex replied, hearing Laura snort slightly next to him. He didn't need her sympathetic nudge to realise that the teacher was going to kill him.

"Detention tomorrow after school," the man said shortly. "Share with Allen for today."

Laura placed her book in front of both of them and Alex realised that Allen must be her surname. "Thanks," he muttered.

She shrugged with a smile, and seemed to sense that he wanted to concentrate on the lesson. Neither spoke.

* * *

When the bell rang, Alex mechanically gathered his things together and stuffed them in his bag. It was the end of the day and nothing bad had yet happened. _Told you, _he huffed at his mind, only registering a moment afterwards that he was talking to himself. He strode out of the classroom and headed straight to the side road where Ben was waiting. He slid into the car, dumping his bag on the floor.

"How was your day?" Ben asked as he pulled away from the school.

"Crap."

"What happened?" Ben questioned sympathetically, glancing at him.

"My English teacher was interfering, my chemistry teacher gave me detention, and I couldn't concentrate all day."

"Ahh," Ben said in understanding. "Want to talk about it?"

"No," Alex replied sullenly.

"Right," Ben answered, accepting his response. "Takeaway tonight?"

"I'm going to get fat," Alex complained with a smile, grateful for the change of subject.

"We'll get Indian," Ben promised. "Isn't the spice supposed to be healthy or something?"

"Yeah, not sure that's really the point, Ben," Alex laughed. "I don't care, anyway. Indian's good."

"I'll give them a call when we get home. Any work to do tonight?"

"Chemistry," Alex shrugged. "Not too much, really."

"Good," Ben grinned. "We can have a relaxing evening then."

And they did. The leaden weight hanging over Alex gradually seemed to ease throughout the evening, and with Ben's help, he managed to get his chemistry homework done. The man was understandably furious when he realised the cause of his detention, but Alex persuaded him not to pursue it with the school.

"The man doesn't like me, but he's a good teacher," Alex said, and Ben let it go.

That's not to say the evening was perfect, of course it wasn't. Both of them flinched when they heard voices outside the house; every creak of the wooden floorboards made them jump. But it was alright, they sought reassurance from each other. It was nice to know, too, that Blunt was taking their safety seriously and that agents were outside the house. The subtly hidden panic buttons were a comfort and Alex couldn't resist running his hands over them every so often to check they hadn't disappeared. Ben didn't say anything about it, but Alex had caught him inspecting the one in the hall earlier and figured he understood.

They both headed off to bed at around eleven o'clock, muttering quick goodnights to each other. Alex chucked his pyjamas on and slipped under the duvet. The dread had almost completely disappeared by now and he cursed himself for ever being stupid enough to listen to a 'bad feeling'. He fell gently into sleep, hearing comforting snores from Ben's room next door.

* * *

_Secret police of your childhood_

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

_Skidmarks of sin_

_Laid you wide open for hell_

_Boom._

_Boom._

_Boom._

* * *

The next day dawned in a cloudy sky and Alex woke abruptly from sleep at six in the morning, the bloody poem from English circling around in his head. He hadn't had a particularly bad nightmare, thankfully, and he was relatively alert unlike the day before. He pulled on his school uniform and headed downstairs. Ben wasn't awake yet and so he grabbed some bread from the freezer and stuck it in the toaster. He idly cleaned up the mess from the takeaway last night and switched on the radio. The dread from yesterday had gone.

Ben didn't appear until seven when he stumbled downstairs in a daze.

"Bad night?" Alex asked, passing him a plate of toast. The irony of the reversal of their positions wasn't lost on either of them.

"Not great," Ben sighed, grabbing a knife and spreading some butter on his toast. "Thanks," he muttered, gesturing to the plate.

"No problem," Alex said, joining him at the table.

"Why are you up so early?"

"Woke up early," Alex shrugged. Ben seemed to have no reply, wolfing down his food and then traipsing upstairs for a shower. Alex plonked himself down in front of the TV. This day was already looking better than the previous.

* * *

He arrived at school early enough to track down his chemistry teacher and hand in his homework, apologising for his behaviour. The teacher huffed and reminded him about the detention that evening, but Alex thought he could detect a slight softening in the man's attitude.

Form went quickly, although Laura didn't come and speak to him. She wasn't exactly a consistent friend, but he guessed that suited him better anyway. It meant she wouldn't be upset when he disappeared for days or weeks at a time; she'd always have someone else. To be honest, that may be precisely why she behaved like that.

He paid attention in all his lessons, even sticking his hand up to answer questions once in a while. His biology teacher was so impressed that he stopped him after the lesson.

"I'm pleased to see you join in more," the man said, smiling at him.

Alex shrugged. "I want to take my education seriously, sir, and I find biology very interesting." It was only a half-lie, he was being careful about his education, but he had to admit to himself that the biological make-up of proteins and polypeptides didn't fascinate him all that much.

"Make sure you keep it up!" his teacher told him.

The sentiment was echoed from most of his teachers. His English teacher shot him a few concerned looks, perhaps wondering about his abrupt turn-around, but she didn't ask to speak to him. He hurried from English, his last lesson of the day, just to make sure she didn't want another heart-to-heart. Once a good distance away, he ambled towards the chemistry rooms for detention, wondering what he would be made to do.

"Ahh, Rider," the teacher looked up when he knocked on the open door. "Come in and sit down."

Alex did as he was told, sitting at a desk on the front row.

"Since you're so far behind, I thought you could use this opportunity to do some catch-up work," the man told him. "Here's your list of work for today." He handed over a piece of paper and turned back to his marking.

Alex looked down at the paper and groaned internally. The first task was to read and make notes on pages 31-36, then answer questions on the subject, then make more notes, then do an activity on it, then . . . Christ, it was a lot of work. He pulled out his textbook and exercise book and started.

To be fair to the teacher, it may have been a lot of work but Alex did feel it had been beneficial at the end of the hour detention. He had learnt and consolidated much of the topic they'd been studying.

"Right, it's five to five, so you can go," the teacher said at last, glancing at his watch. "I trust we won't have to do this again?"

"No sir," Alex replied, gathering his books together. He muttered a quick goodbye and left the classroom. He headed for the back gate quickly, finding the silence of the school eerie. Plenty of teachers were still in school, but none of them were wandering the corridors.

He was nearly at the back of the school where he'd arranged to meet Ben when he realised that something was wrong. He stood still, trying to figure out what had bothered him, when he heard the slight rustling of clothes again. A teacher, he told himself, but couldn't quite forget the fact that no teacher would have a reason to hide. He slid into a fighting stance, his feet wide and his body balanced. He dumped his bag on the floor, looking around him.

There!

A flash of a blue uniform – a cleaner's – and Alex spun to look. The man leaped at him, trying to grab him and keep him still. Obviously not a cleaner, Alex deduced, sighing, and sprang into action. He twisted his body away, jabbing a punch at him. When that failed to connect, he launched a strong kick, feeling the confirming shudder that vibrated up his leg at the impact. The man grunted, but the fight continued. They fought hard; the man was obviously well trained, but then again, so was Alex. The only question in his mind was the position of the teachers. There were classrooms nearby; shouldn't they hear the noises?

Oh, Tuesday. Staff meeting for the maths teachers whose block this was. His attackers had been doing some recon then, unless it was just an unfortunate coincidence. Then again, the cleaner's uniform suggested they had infiltrated the school. It was so bloody typical of Blunt to forget that the other side could spy as well – where was his protection at school?

Alex scowled as a well-timed fist caught him on the chin and he renewed his efforts. Both were panting, aching, and Alex could feel a throbbing in his leg. He was pretty sure this was the kind of heavy exercise his physiotherapist didn't want him doing.

Just when Alex thought he was gaining the upper hand, a body pressed against his from behind and the attacker in front of him smirked. A cloth covered his face and he struggled desperately, trying not to breathe in. Again, for Christ's sake. Why did all the terrorists in this world have to use freaking chloroform?

He gasped in a frantic breath, knowing he was spelling his own destruction as he did so, but unable to prevent it. The chemical seeped into his brain, and he spiralled down into the blackness.

_Boom._

_Boom. _

_Boom._

_We remember your childhood well._

* * *

_A/N: Well, here you go, another chapter :) I'm so sorry there's another cliff-hanger. I'm hoping another chapter will appear within a couple of weeks. I don't know what you think about the kidnapping/plausibility. To be honest, I knew he had to be taken at some point this chapter but I truly had no idea how I was going to make it happen until I wrote it! I have never done any sort of fighting so I apologise for the vagueness concerning the action._

_Again, if you have any questions or whatever regarding English schooling, or anything I have written, feel free to ask! I promise I don't bite :) (mostly)._

_The poem, as it says in the disclaimer, is 'We Remember Your Childhood Well' by Carol Ann Duffy. She is a fantastic poet and I highly recommend you go read the rest of the poem (the text in here is mainly from stanza 4). It is a disturbing but fascinating poem, just like most of hers! Trust me, it would be worth your time._

_Hope you enjoyed this and please review!_

_Dreams_


	16. Overwhelmed

_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz, not me._

_WARNING: this contains several not very nice swear words (though can you blame Alex?). Please do not read if this will offend you._

* * *

_'Courage or deceit: who'll question it in war?'_

_(Aeneid Book II, Virgil)_

Ben drew up outside the back of the school at exactly five o'clock. He doubted Alex would be out on time by the sound of his bloody teacher (who seemed like a complete _arse_ in his opinion, but he had promised Alex he wouldn't get involved), but didn't want to be late. He grabbed the newspaper he'd picked up on the way to the school and settled in to read.

_Girl, 6, discovered missing after left with babysitter. . ._

_Government economic scandal exposed through forgotten letters. . ._

_Injured woman demands compensation from bus company . . ._

The depressing news headlines leapt out at him and he sighed, flicking through a few pages until he found the small little columns in the middle of the newspaper. These tiny columns always cheered him up – the smaller the text, the more bizarre the story, in his opinion.

He sufficiently passed the time reading these until he glanced at his watch and saw it was five twenty. Where was Alex? He'd been told the detention would finish at five, and even if it overran a little Alex should have been out by now. He felt a stirring of unease in his gut but pushed it down. There would be an explanation, he was sure. He'd give it five more minutes, then go and check with the school. The idiot of the teacher had probably extended the detention by half an hour or something.

But five minutes later there was still no sign of Alex, and Ben felt anxiety lift its ugly head. He jumped out of the car, absently locking it behind him, and hurried to the front of the school.

"Hey," he almost barked at the receptionist. "I'm looking for Alex Rider? He had detention and was supposed to be out at five."

The receptionist glanced at the clock on the wall, and smiled in a friendly manner, seeming not to mind Ben's rudeness. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation, Mr . . .?"

"Daniels," Ben said, calming marginally. "Ben Daniels. Could you perhaps send someone to look for him?"

"Why don't you just come with me and I'll take you to him?" she replied, standing up from behind the desk. She looked around fifty or so, a kind and friendly woman who perhaps wanted the job just for some company.

"Thanks," Ben said, breathing a sigh of relief. "That- that would be great, thank you."

"Which teacher was the detention with?" she asked, leading him around to the main part of the school.

"I don't know his name," Ben said apologetically, looking at his surroundings. The school was bleak and grey; he couldn't imagine spending every day here and _enjoying _it. "He taught chemistry?"

"Oh, yes, Alex'll be in the chemistry area then,"

"Thanks," Ben said again. "It's just not like him to be late, not at all."

"So I've heard," the woman replied genially. "I work with Miss Bedfordshire, you know? She thinks the world of Alex. Very worried she was when he started missing school."

"Right," Ben said awkwardly, not having the slightest clue who Miss Bedfordshire was.

"Well, here's the chemistry department," she said a couple of minutes later, gesturing to the classrooms. She rapped on the office door and a tall man came to open it.

"Can I help?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"We're looking for Alex Rider," the receptionist offered. "He was having detention here?"

"Rider?" the man asked, looking confused. Ben felt a thrill of fear rush through him. If Alex wasn't here, he didn't know what to do. "I sent him home at five-to-five. He went straight off, far as I know."

"He was having detention with you?" Ben cut in. Full clown panic was coursing through him now. He'd been waiting outside the school since five; surely, he couldn't have missed Alex? Where would the spy go, anyway? He'd known Ben was coming to meet him.

"Yes," the man said. "Is there a problem?"

"None at all," Ben said hurriedly, not allowing the receptionist to speak. "Do you know what direction he went in?"

"Headed to the back of school, I think," the teacher answered. "Why? Has the brat gone off with friends without telling you or something?"

"I expect so," Ben sighed, impressing himself with his ability to lie so fluently when really he was having trouble controlling his breathing. "I just wish he'd told me first."

"Well, teenagers are a bit like that, aren't they?" the receptionist trilled, thanking the teacher for his help. "I'll take you back to reception, shall I?"

"Thank you," Ben said automatically, following her down the halls. But Alex _wasn't _like other teenagers. He wouldn't go off on his own for no reason whatsoever, especially when he knew exactly how much danger he was in every second of the-

_What about the agents?_ Ben thought suddenly. They were supposed to be following him. If he could get in contact with them, they'd have to know where Alex was. It was their job, after all.

Damn, he didn't have any number for them. He'd have to call Blunt. He murmured a quick goodbye and thank you to the receptionist and wandered out into the car park of the school. He dialled MI6 briskly, willing his hands to stop shaking.

_Damnit, _he was stronger than this. He was an _agent_, for Christ's sake. Difficult situations were what he dealt with every bloody day.

_But it's never been Alex in danger before, _a tiny voice whispered, and he quashed it down. He had to stay calm. Had to. For Alex.

"I need to speak to Blunt," he snapped as soon as the call connected.

"I'm sorry, sir, there's-" a voice started to say.

"It's Agent Daniels," he interrupted, rattling off his code number. "Put me through to him or Jones, _now_!"

"Of course, sir," the voice said shakily. A wave of calm waiting music came over the phone and Ben clenched his fist. _Hurry up, for God's sake._

"Daniels," Mrs Jones voice said, stopping the music. "What's going on?"

"Alex is missing," he said immediately. He expected Mrs Jones to ask questions such as 'are you sure?' and 'how do you know?'. Instead, he got a quick response.

"We've lost contact with our agents,"

"Lost contact?" he repeated, incredulous.

"They have stopped responding to their radios. They radioed in because they'd seen something suspicious, but they now seem to be down."

"What did they see?" Ben asked, desperate for any information. As he was talking, he wandered around the back of the school, looking for any clues.

"There was a van hanging around outside the school, with no one going in or out. The engine was on the whole time," Mrs Jones rattled off, sounding as if she was reading from a script. To be honest, she probably was.

"And then the radio went quiet?"

"Yes," Mrs Jones said briskly, sounding more like herself. "We've sent people out to try and track them down. I'll let you know when we hear from them."

"Thanks," Ben replied, climbing over the back gate of the school with one hand, cursing the difficulty of spying whilst on the phone.

"You'd better come in," the deputy head continued. "We can't risk you going missing too."

Ben snorted, knowing that her concern was not for him at all, but for the safety of the country. If Menarc – because who else would it be? – had both him and Alex, they would use them against each other.

"I'll come in when I've looked around a bit," he bargained, unwilling to sit in an office and do nothing. He'd rather be out, looking around, feeling useful.

"No," Mrs Jones snapped harshly. "You'll come in now, Daniels, do you understand?"

Ben felt hysteria bubble within him but pushed it down. Alex was out there, alone, most likely being tortured _again_, and K Unit were in one of the most dangerous countries there were, and he was _useless. Absolutely bloody useless. _And the bitch wouldn't even let him do anything. This was going to drive him to insanity.

"Fine," he choked out. "_Fine._" He'd do it, but he wasn't going to be bloody happy about it.

"Good," Mrs Jones said shortly, and hung up. Ben stared at his phone, wondering what the _hell _he was supposed to feel.

Panic, he guessed, was normal. But Christ, he hated this.

_Right, _he told himself firmly, train to the Bank. That was the first step. One thing at a time, that was the way to go.

* * *

"Ah, Daniels," Mrs Jones said in greeting when he finally walked into Blunt's office some time later. She was seated at the other end of the desk than Blunt, who didn't look up from the paper on his desk.

"Mrs Jones, Mr Blunt," Ben said respectfully. He'd had a chance to compose himself on the train to central London. He would be no good to Alex if he wasn't thinking clearly.

"Take a seat," Jones offered, gesturing to a chair.

He sank into the chair in relief, but didn't allow himself to relax. "Any news?" he asked, a faint tinge of desperation to his voice.

"We believe Alex has been kidnapped," Blunt answered, glancing up at him. Ben resisted the urge to say _no shit._

"The agents have been found," Jones took over. "They were knocked out with chloroform but have been coming round quite quickly, according to our doctors."

"What happened to them?" Ben questioned, wishing the heads would just hurry up and tell him.

"They should be coming any second now to report straight in to us," Jones said, glancing at the door.

Sure enough, a knock was soon heard.

"Come in!" Jones called, and two bedraggled looking men walked into the room. Their faces and eyes were red and sore. Bruises seemed to be forming and one of them limped slightly when they walked. They looked- well, they looked like they'd been in a fight.

Ben stood up, offering them both a seat, figuring they needed it more than him.

"Mrs Jones, Mr Blunt," one of them mumbled in greeting as they both collapsed into a sitting position. Ben didn't think either of them were in a fit state to be wandering around.

"Harper, Williams, could you tell us what happened?" Mrs Jones asked, her voice softening ever so slightly.

"You heard our report, right, Ma'am?" one of them began, and Ben leaned back against the wall. "About the van and everything?"

Mrs Jones nodded.

"Well, we were trying to get a bit closer, to see who was driving it and what was inside and stuff, when two men snuck up behind us and tried to knock us out. They managed to stick a bloody chloroform cloth on our faces and we ended up unconscious."

Ben sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. Why had MI6 assigned such incompetent idiots to guard him and Alex? If the apologetic glance the deputy head shot his way was anything to go by, she had realised her mistake too. How could the two agents not have realised there could be other people around? Hadn't they been on guard?

Blunt ignored the failings of his agents to get to the heart of the matter. "Did you get a look at their faces? The van number plate?"

"No sir," one said, looking down in obvious humiliation. "We were caught by surprise, sir."

"You idiots could cost Alex his life," Ben hissed angrily, no longer feeling sorry for them. "Why were you not prepared for an attack? Why weren't you on guard? What the hell were you even-"

"Daniels," Blunt snapped. "That is not helping."

Ben scowled but subsided.

"Now," Blunt continued, "we must presume it is Menarc who have taken Alex, so we will act accordingly. Every agent we have that is anywhere remotely linked to the organisation is on full alert and have been briefed about who to look for. We are gathering all the information we have on Menarc and will start search and rescue operations."

"Does Alex have a tracker still?" Ben asked, his anger feeling somewhat deflated now Blunt was proving he was going to act quickly and strongly to get Alex back.

"Yes," Jones said quietly, "the tracker we gave him will stay with him permanently. We have people waiting for the second it starts emitting a signal but . . ." she trailed off.

Ben understood. If the tracker started, it would mean Alex was being tortured severely. It would help them find him, yes, but it could spell his death.

"What can I do?" Ben asked, hoping he would be given a job.

Blunt shook his head. "Go home," he said simply. "Stay inside and don't take risks. You'll be no help to us if you get yourself caught too."

"I'm no help to you now," Ben muttered, frustrated. The urge to hit something, anything, sprung up. For Christ's sake, Alex was in danger and he couldn't do _anything_. He was completely, utterly, thoroughly, helpless.

"We'll keep you updated," Jones told him, her voice rasping. She cleared her throat stoically, but Ben detected a glimmer of worry behind the mask. "Just-" she looked at Blunt briefly, "just keep hoping."

Ben nodded, the lump in his throat too large to risk speaking. He turned to leave, ignoring the two agents completely as he went. "Thanks," he said in a low voice, unsure as to what he was even speaking about.

"We'll keep in touch, Daniels," Blunt said, hardly looking at him. Ben nodded again, leaving the room. He mechanically got into the lift, not thinking about where he was going or what on earth he was going to do when he got home. His thoughts, instead, were with the sixteen year old boy who was once more in pain and alone. They boy whom Ben had, ever so slowly but ever so strongly, grown to love as a son.

* * *

Alex woke up slowly, wincing at his aching muscles and bruises. He looked around at his surroundings and groaned when he remembered what had happened. The men at his school, the van. . . He had vague memories of waking up groggy and confused several times along the journey and being almost immediately smothered with the sickly sweet cloth. The journey must have been a long one then, he concluded. Christ, he may not even be in England anymore. Then again, it would have been difficult to smuggle him through the border controls in the state he was in.

He stood up gradually, conscious of the pounding in his head and the dizziness. Gripping onto the wall, he made his way around the small, dimly lit room he found himself in. It was so reminiscent of the last cell he'd been kept in that the flashbacks made him reel. His breathing faltered, his heart fluttered, and panic threatened to overwhelm him completely. He didn't want to be tortured again.

_Stop it._ You're fine, he told himself. He couldn't afford to lose his head, not in a situation like this. He carried on with his journey, pausing to inspect the door. It was thick metal with a small plastic window at around head height. It looked like a prison cell; there was even a bolted down bunk bed. There was no food or drink in the room and, at first glance, no toilet. He continued searching the room and eventually found a bucket tucked in the corner. Fantastic, he thought sourly. Kidnapping, fine, but giving him a bucket for a toilet? That was just unfair.

He finished his inspection of the room and, finding nothing new, sat down on the thin bed. There were no sheets or blankets, but at least it was somewhere to perch. He hadn't spotted any cameras, but that didn't mean they – whoever _they _were – weren't watching him. He made sure to appear calm and together the whole time. There was no use in giving them ammunition against him. He lay back on the bed, thinking he might as well relax whilst he was waiting. There was nothing he could do at that moment.

Half an hour later, he was incredibly bored. He resorted to doing press-ups and sit-ups on the floor. He was tempted to practice his karate but didn't want to give them any clues about his fighting style – although those men may have reported back. It was weird that they'd only sent two men to get him. If it wasn't for the chloroform, they may not have been able to catch him at all. It was risky, very risky. Menarc knew him, knew he could fight. They'd nearly lost him last time (and it felt so long ago now) because they underestimated his ability. To do it again . . . Well, it was stupid. And terrorist organisations don't normally behave like that. They don't get far in the criminal world if they keep on messing up and taking ridiculous risks.

So what was going on?

* * *

Ben answered the ringing phone automatically, slumping down on the sofa with it cradled to his ear. "Hello?"

"Mr Daniels," a voice spoke and Ben jumped to his feet. "We would be most grateful if you could pop into the bank today. We have a couple of queries concerning your account."

There was only one thought running through Ben's head as he shoved on some shoes and ran out the door.

_Alex. They had to have news about Alex._

He arrived at the Royal and General Bank in record time, slightly out of breath from the hurried journey. He was immediately shown up to a small room in a different area than normal. Jones was there, as always, and she looked emotionless. That doesn't mean anything, Ben tried to tell himself. But if they had found Alex, there would be some glimmer of relief or happiness, surely?

"Take a seat, Daniels," he was told. He did, sitting by the desk on which there was a very high-tech computer. Come to think of it, there was a lot of fancy equipment in the room. Some sort of tech base?

"We've managed to establish a safe video call with K Unit out in Iraq," Mrs Jones told him and Ben felt his heart deflate. He knew where this was going. "We are going to pull them out," she continued. "It's far too dangerous to have them at risk when they could be used against Alex."

"Ok," Ben said slowly. "Why do you need me?"

"We thought the news about Alex would be better coming from you."

"Right," Ben replied, feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of having to tell K Unit what had happened. "Can you, you know- I mean, can I . . .?"

"I'll leave you alone to break the news," Mrs Jones said, understanding in that creepy way of hers exactly what he was trying to say. "Be gentle about it," she added. "We don't want them doing anything reckless."

Ben thought about defending his friends but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. There was a glimmer of truth in what she'd said, anyway. His friends were good people, strong fighters, but they weren't the most rational of men at times. There was a reason they stayed in the SAS.

"Just press the green button on the phone when you're ready. It's all set up for you," Mrs Jones told him, before departing from the room.

Calming his racing heart, Ben slowly hit the button on a phone in front of him. There was a ringing sound and a blurry image of a hotel room appeared on the computer screen. Ben exhaled shakily.

"Ben," Wolf said, an element of surprise in his voice. Eagle and Snake were clustered around him, both looking tired and very wary.

"Hi guys," Ben replied hopelessly. He didn't want to do this; didn't want to deliver the news that had shattered him already.

"What's going on?" Snake demanded.

"What have you been told?" Ben said instead, trying to delay the moment.

Wolf and Snake looked at each other. "Not much," Wolf said. "Just that we're being pulled out and a secure link was being established to explain to us why."

"Right, yeah," Ben muttered.

"Where's Alex?" Eagle asked wearily. Ben wondered if it was the situation in Iraq that had made him so, or if the man had figured it out already. Behind the idiocy, Eagle was fairly sharp.

"Alex is- he's been- umm, Alex has been taken by Menarc," Ben said in a rush, adding on "we think."

Wolf and Snake reared back slightly. Eagle shut his eyes briefly but displayed little surprise. The soldier had guessed then.

"Wh-" Wolf cleared his throat. "When?"

"Yesterday," Ben replied, maintaining eye contact even though all he wanted to do was look away from the soldiers going through exactly what he had – and was still.

Snake's mumbled 'shit' didn't go unheard and Ben saw Eagle reach out a hand and lay it on Snake's arm. Snake grabbed it with his other hand.

"What happened?" Wolf queried harshly.

"He was taken from school, we reckon," Ben informed him. "We don't know exactly, but the two agents who were supposed to be following him had seen a suspicious van hanging around. They both ended up knocked out, the idiots."

"Bloody incompetent spies," Eagle spat.

Ben smirked slightly. "I know. I think Jones and Blunt chewed them out though."

"They deserve to be shot," Snake muttered. "Their mistake could result in Alex being killed."

"I know," Ben sighed. "But we're a democracy here. We have to do things the proper way."

"Is there any news?" Wolf cut in, obviously fed up with the inane talk.

Ben shook his head. "None that I know of, but Blunt has men out everywhere looking for him and every agent connect to Menarc at the moment is on full alert."

"It won't be enough," Eagle said in a depressed voice.

"It might be," Ben retorted. It could be, would be, _should be _enough.

_But we didn't find him last time until the tracker activated, _a little voice whispered. Shut up, he told it. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

"Anyway, we can talk more when you get home, right?" Ben said, mustering up a weak smile.

"Yeah," Snake replied. "We should be back in a day or so, it depends on when they can get us a safe flight."

"Well, hurry home, ok?" Ben pushed back his chair. "I'm all alone here."

"Ahh, is little Benny getting lonely?" Wolf teased, although his voice was flat.

"Something like that," Ben answered with a sad twitch of his lips. _Yes, _he wanted to scream. His flat had never seemed so quiet, or so frightening. He'd become so used to the presence of _someone _that to be alone was torture.

"We'll see you soon," Wolf promised and Snake nodded. Eagle stayed quiet, his face grim and drawn.

"Stay safe," Ben told them firmly, leaning forward to switch off the call. He put his head in his hands for a second, safe in the knowledge that he could be alone with his grief, before pushing himself up and leaving the room. He had to stay strong.

For Alex.

* * *

"Get up, Rider!" a voice snapped as Alex blinked himself back into awareness. He shot upright on the bed, hauling himself to his feet immediately. One of the men who had taken his stood in the open doorway to his room; the man's face bruised and sore looking. Alex smirked, glad to see they had suffered similar damage to him.

"I'm up," he retorted snarkily. "What?"

"Come with me," the man ordered.

"Make me," Alex shot back straight away. So perhaps pissing off his captors wasn't the best idea, but he wasn't going to go down without a fight.

"Don't tempt me." The man waved a gun at him with a mocking grin. "Get over here, Rider."

Alex scowled but did as ordered. He was no use to anyone if he got himself shot. As soon as he got close enough, the man grabbed him and held the gun to his head.

"Walk," the man growled, and Alex did. The cold, hard metal of the gun was pressing against his temple as they wandered through some plain, damp corridors.

"Where are we going?"

"Shut up," the man bit out, and Alex frowned to himself. The man sounded almost . . . afraid. But why would he be afraid? Were there issues within the Menarc leadership? That could be either good or bad for him; he needed more information to use it to his advantage.

"Bosses not like you?" he taunted, knowing that the man was unlikely to shoot him without good cause. After all, they'd gone to the trouble of kidnapping him rather than killing him there and then.

"I'm my own boss," the man said harshly, shoving him forward roughly.

"I'll leave you to your little delusions," Alex replied mockingly, although inwardly his mind was racing. Was the man just a bit delusional, choosing to believe he had control? Or was there something else going on? The man surely couldn't be in charge of Menarc, so perhaps this was just a faction of it. Maybe it wasn't Menarc at all - but if it wasn't Menarc, who was it?

"Shut up!" The man pulled back the gun slightly and slammed it down on Alex's head. He crumpled momentarily, trying to breathe through the sudden pain. The gun instantaneously came back to rest beside his forehead.

"Keep moving," the man ordered, pushing his body forward as Alex straightened up and recomposed himself.  
"Fuck. You." Alex hissed, but did as he was told. The man didn't talk again, and Alex decided that more questions might not be received well.

They arrived shortly at a nondescript door, which the man opened and marched Alex through. Inside the room were an empty desk and two men, standing on the opposite side of it. One of the men was the other one who'd taken him from school. He looked far tidier than his colleague did; obviously the one who'd held the chloroform. He didn't look like he'd been in a fight.

"Alex Rider," the one Alex didn't recognize said, interest evident in his voice.

"Nice to meet you," Alex replied sarcastically. A flicker of hatred entered the man's eyes but he didn't retaliate.

"Let him go," the man told the one behind Alex, who reluctantly lowered the gun. The man fingered the trigger threateningly but Alex ignored him. He named that man 'Trigger'. The one talking could be 'Watch', due to the expensive watch on his arm, and the other one – who hadn't yet spoken – could be 'Mouse'. There, that would keep them straight in his head. Naming them humanised them too, made them less like the evil robots they could otherwise imitate.

"What do you want?" he asked tiredly, wishing they'd stop with the pretence already.

"Nothing drastic," Watch smirked. He appeared to be in charge of the others – so much for 'I'm my own boss'. "Just a little information."

"You won't be getting it," Alex responded bluntly, folding his arms and attempting to look bored.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Mouse said, a sadistic grin on his face.

"People have tried before you," Alex pointed out. "All of them failed."

"Oh I don't know," Trigger said, stepping in front of him. "They may not have gained info, but they hurt you a fair bit, didn't they?" He held the gun firmly and, as Alex watched, slammed it hard into Alex's thigh, right where the old wound was. Alex choked slightly, folding over his knee and gasping for breath. _Christ_, that hurt. The wound wasn't even healed properly and he hoped to hell it hadn't broken open again. He now knew: they _had _to be Menarc. Only they would know the exact placement of his wound.

"You bastard," Alex spat out, gaining his breath back and gently standing up straight. Trigger laughed at him; a mocking, inhuman sound.

"Language," he taunted.

"You know, you lot were more organised last time I was here," Alex commented, deciding that now was the time to get information. "It's unlike you to make the same mistake. Maybe Menarc's standards are slipping."

"Menarc is bloody useless," Watch snapped. Mouse quickly moved closer to him and whispered something in his ear, resulting in Watch paling slightly. Alex redefined his opinion on who was in charge of this little group.

"What he means to say," Mouse took over, "is that we decided to catch you ourselves."

"You mean your bosses don't even know?" Alex asked, eyes wide with incredulity. "Do you seriously think your disobedience will go over well?"

"They were going to let you go," Trigger informed him, eyes hard and cold. "You had all this protection and were worrying so much and Menarc were going to let you go free!"

"We couldn't let that happen," Watch continued. "You're too valuable – too dangerous – to let go."

"Thank you," Alex replied with a sarcastic grin. "You're not part of Menarc, then?"

"Oh we are," Watch said, and Alex felt a headache coming on. This was confusing him completely. "But we're more than that."

"We're Scorpia first and foremost," Trigger carried on. "It doesn't matter to us if Menarc are in control or not."

"You survived the takeover but weren't happy about it," Alex deduced with a sigh. God, what a messed up organisation. He doubted Menarc had predicted the many factions they would cause the group to split into when they made the decision to control the ruined Scorpia.

"Precisely," Watch grinned. "And, Alex Rider, Scorpia never forgive. Scorpia never forget."

* * *

_A/N: Sorry this is quite bitty and not very fluent - it is hard to smoothly skip between different people and situations! I understand that people may be confused at the moment with the whole Menarc/Scorpia thing, but please just be patient. It should all be explained in a couple of chapters - if you're still confused, send me a PM or something. At least you're not alone, Alex is confused as well!_

_I did a bit of research on chloroform and generally it seems to be that people can recover from it fairly quickly when the chloroform is removed, although of course it comes with risks such as respiratory distress etc. It also seems to inflame people's eyes and faces if held against them, hence why characters are described as having red eyes and stuff._

_Hmm, think that's all I had to say, except please do review! It means the world to me, and I especially love it when people ask questions and want to chat (hello Ringbearer0100!)._

_Dreams_


	17. Knowledge

_Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider, the characters belong to Anthony Horowitz_

_A/N: I'm so sorry about the wait!_

* * *

_'I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing'_

_(Agatha Christie)_

"We'll give you some time to think it over," Mouse said quietly, but his voice was hard. He gestured sharply at Trigger, and Alex caught the scowl out of the corner of his eye. Trouble in paradise, then. Trigger could be useful if he was resentful.

The man in question grabbed hold of his arm and yet again placed the gun to his head. Alex rolled his eyes.

"Think what over?" Alex questioned before he could be manhandled out of the room. Trigger paused next to him, his breath heavy and threatening behind Alex. Potentially useful, yes, but a loose cannon too, and that could end up very dangerous.

Watch grinned, somewhat sadistically. "Whether you will cooperate with us, Rider, or if we will have to resort to . . . other methods."

Alex sighed, pleased to see an annoyed frown on Watch's face at his nonchalance. Fear was trickling through him – _Christ_, he didn't want to be tortured again – but he knew better than to show it. "I think you already know my answer," he retorted firmly, glaring at the men.

Mouse waved him away without an expression on his face, and Trigger pushed him towards the door. With the cold, menacing weapon pressed against his brain, he followed the implicit orders given and was marched from the room. There was utter silence behind him, and he had no desire to question his already unbalanced captor further.

Trigger shoved him into his little prison cell without a word and stalked away, an ugly look on his face. Alex was left staring at the blank walls, the sound of the door shutting reverberating around the room and through his ears.

He thought through the strange meeting in his mind. What had been the point? It could have been solely to intimidate him, but it wasn't very frightening. If anything, it had given him ammunition against them, shown him where their weaknesses lay and highlighted the divides in the organisation. If he was honest, his cosy prison cell sent more fear through his heart than those three ever would. Memories, at this precise moment, were his worst enemy. The room was simply so similar to the last one he'd been kept in that he couldn't stop the flashbacks filtering through his mind, and each one crippled him. He had to fight for control every second; he couldn't let Menarc or Scorpia, or whoever the hell they were, glimpse his weakness.

He lay idle on the bed, barely considered thoughts trailing across his mind as he allowed himself to doze. He wouldn't dwell on what was going to happen, though he did wonder why they possibly thought he would give in to them, when he hadn't in the weeks he'd been tortured before.

_(-"miss me, Rider, did you?"-)_

He shook his head, pushing the images from his mind and jumped up suddenly, unable to bear the inactivity any longer. _This _was what was going to damage him the most, being left, and perhaps that was what Menarc had planned, after all.

_(-"leave you to stew, shall I?"-)_

He held back the flinch, catching his breathing before it escalated and pulling himself under control again. He dropped down to the floor carefully, mindful of his slightly pounding head and throbbing thigh. He lay there for a second, maybe two, appreciating the quiet of the room, before-

_(-knife dripped blood and he cried out between clenched teeth-)_

He threw himself into crunches, focusing his mind on the burn of his core muscles and distracting himself from the painful images.

The day passed agonisingly slowly for Alex and it was all he could do to stop himself wondering what, exactly, Menarc were planning for him. Straight out physical torture? Mental? Would the three who had taken him even tell Menarc in the end, or keep it to themselves? He didn't know, and the lack of knowledge was killing him.

Hours must have sped by before the monotony was broken by the sound of the door opening a fraction. Trigger appeared, wearing a frown yet again, carrying a bottle of water in one hand and gesturing like a child with a gun in the other. Alex stayed at the back of the cell, knowing there was little he could do when the man had a gun, and watched. The water was placed on the floor by the door and Alex scowled, wondering if he would get any food with that. He'd weaken fast without proper sustenance, and that would not be conductive to an escape attempt.

"Here," Trigger grunted, nudging in a paper plate with two slices of bread and butter on it. "Don't want you starving, do we?"

Alex raised his eyebrows but didn't move towards the food. He refrained from snapping that actually he still couldn't survive on just a little bread every day, because at least it was better than nothing.

Trigger glared at him a little longer, and Alex could almost see the thoughts drifting through his mind. He prayed that the man wouldn't act upon his desires and take out his frustration on him; Alex had no wish to be used as a punching bag.

Finally the man turned away, his gun still grasped in his hand, and slammed the door shut. Alex flinched-

_(-"Scared, Rider?"-)_

-but crept forwards towards the food, sitting carefully down beside it. He didn't know how long this food would have to last him for, nor did he know if it was drugged or even poisoned. The only thing he did know was that Menarc had no intention of letting him go anytime soon, and he would need food to keep him alive.

Decision made, he carefully bit into the side of the toast, mindful of the fact that he hadn't eaten in a while and his stomach could rebel. When the coast seemed clear and the food stayed down, he polished off the plate and took a few swallows of the water. With food, waiting for the next meal would hopefully not kill him, but he would need to preserve the water in case it was in short supply. Trapped in a small airless room, the temperature could rise or fall very rapidly too, and he didn't want to suffer dehydration.

Having done all he could to ensure his survival at that moment, he lay back on the floor and yet again began to do crunches. He refused to let himself think.

* * *

Ben sat at the kitchen table, staring absently down at his teacup. The absence of both K Unit and Alex hung over the house and the silence was torturous – but at least the soldiers would be home any minute. A phone call from Mrs Jones had informed him they had arrived back in the UK, unharmed. The flood of relieve had not totally dissolved the insoluble lead of worry for Alex that had been sitting, frozen, in his heart. He sighed suddenly, shaking his head as he stopped his mind from pursuing those thoughts. He had no wish to go down that line.

He stood quietly, wincing at the shrill scrape of the chair against the floor. The breaking of the silence seemed wrong, somehow. He wondered over to the kitchen window, clutching his mug in his hand and gazing out of the glass. He couldn't wait to see K Unit again and having some company in his empty house, even if it only served to highlight what was missing.

He tore his gaze away from the window, figuring it would do him no good to be idle and thoughtful. There had been no news about Alex in the four days he'd been gone, and the unknown was killing Ben. Every moment he sat, every single time he went to bed, Alex was in danger. He could be being tortured, abused – he could have been _killed, _and Ben wouldn't even know. He marched upstairs and into the spare bedroom, pushing his mind onto more practical matters as he pulled off the sheet and put on another. He shied away from the knowledge that he had already done this twice before, and instead took the 'dirty' sheet downstairs and into the washing machine. He picked up a cloth and wiped down the kitchen sides, singing a song idly, and badly, as he worked.

_And I wish I was James Bond, just for the day-_

He froze abruptly, the memory of the last time he had sung that song filling his mind and playing before his eyes. It had been a couple of weeks back when Alex had been recovering from his previous capture and subsequent torture, and that shared moment had been somewhat joyful, if that was at all possible when Alex had been in such a state. He closed his eyes, grief filling his heart at the thought of what his surrogate son would be going through. He hadn't even healed properly before he had been taken again, mentally or physically, and this experience would set him back weeks. It had taken Ben so long to get Alex to open up a little, and now that progress would have been destroyed completely because of some evil bastards who couldn't bloody well leave the poor kid alone.

_He's not a kid, _a little voice whispered, but he ignored it. Spy or not, Alex was sixteen years old and he didn't deserve the way life had treated him. He had never had a break, and he needed one so desperately. Ben had tried to provide that whilst Alex had been staying with him, but he wasn't sure how successful he'd been.

"Hurry up and knock," came a low voice from beyond the door, and Ben paused, straining his ears to hear who it was. He was pretty certain, but was going to make sure before he opened the door.

The doorbell rang, and it jolted Ben into movement. He could hear no more speech from outside, so he simply peered through the peephole and caught a glimpse of Wolf's drawn face, and the vague shape of two others behind him. Smiling, he swung open the door and let them in.

The three soldiers were pale and tired, still wearing their uniforms and appearing as if they hadn't washed for days. The conditions in Iraq weren't very habitable, after all.

"Ben," Wolf nodded, but the man ignored him, drawing him in for a brief hug, relieved to have some human company that wasn't the emotionless heads of MI6. The soldier patted him on the back a couple of times, and stepped back. Ben broke away, turning to face the other two and offering them short claps on the back as well.

"It's good to see you," Snake said quietly, his Scottish accent strong but his face weary. Eagle, too, had a pale, sickly tinge to his skin and Ben didn't want to think about how hard it must have been for him to go back to active duty, so soon after they were pulled off. They hadn't been ready – none of them – and MI6 were monsters for doing it to them.

_But if they could have helped Alex?_ The infernal voice murmured in his mind. He pushed the thought away. Their presence in Iraq had done nothing but bring them pain, and grant him and Alex several sleepless nights. The unit had not been cleared for duty, and they should not have gone, that was the simple truth of it.

"Tea?" Ben asked, walking briskly into the kitchen, the emotional reunions done for that moment. The others followed him in, Snake and Eagle collapsing into one of the chairs. Eagle ran his hand through his matted hair and yawned.

"Please," Wolf answered, leaning against the side and scrutinising Ben. "Any news?"

Ben bit his lip and shook his head. He reached to grab a few teabags, dumping them in a mug each and boiling the kettle.

"They have people looking still," he reported, his voice brittle. "No one seems to know anything."

Eagle uttered a sigh, tipping back in his chair. "How could this have happened again?" he questioned harshly.

No one replied, the silence thick in the room. The only sound was the bubbling of the kettle as the water boiled. Ben gazed out of the window.

"Tea's ready," he said at last, the noise shattering the quiet. Eagle looked up, startled, from the table, and accepted the mug.

"Thanks," all three muttered as Ben handed out the drink. Ben hopped onto the kitchen side and sat there, glancing at the drained soldiers.

"When was the last time you lot slept?" he asked, searching for something to say. Snake made a faint grumbling noise in amongst sips of his tea, but didn't offer a true answer.

"It's been a while," Wolf acknowledged, cracking a yawn. "There's not a lot of peace in Iraq."

"Did you find out anything useful?"

Eagle shook his head. "It was a bloody great waste of time," he retorted. "We were supposedly investigating a suspected missile site for links with Menarc, but no one knew a thing about it."

"Seemed like it was run by Al Qaeda," Snake took over, "but we couldn't join it up to Menarc at all."

"It was useful information, I guess." Eagle shrugged. "Just not for us or Alex."

"That boy has the worst luck in the world," Ben muttered, his casual words not disguising the hitch in his voice.

"At least he's still alive," Eagle shot back. Ben clenched his fists, feeling as if he had been punched in the chest.

Wolf growled. "Eagle-"

"I didn't mean that," the man in question said softly, rubbing his hands over his face, and Ben nodded.

"I know," Ben answered, feeling sorry for his friend. Eagle had taken Leopard's death very hard, and Christ the man was allowed to lose it sometimes.

"No," Eagle said. "I don't- I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't compare the two."

"You can't help it," Ben pointed out astutely, and Eagle nodded a fraction. Ben, although he had never really known Leopard, could see the similarities. Both had been tortured horrifically, both were people Eagle cared about. However, Leopard hadn't made it through his ordeal, and Alex had – and hopefully would again.

"I think I'll go to bed," Eagle announced. Snake glanced up at the clock and frowned.

Ben decided not to point out the early hour and instead gestured for Eagle to go. "The bed in the spare room is made up for someone to use, if you like," he offered.

"Thanks," Eagle agreed, trudging out of the room. "Goodnight," he said quietly.

"Sleep well," Ben answered, knowing in his heart that the soldier wouldn't. It would be a long time before any of them had a peaceful night.

* * *

Alex awoke to the distant sound of voices outside his cell. He frowned, pushing himself up off the bed and standing a metre or so away from the door. He cocked his head and listened. Apart from the daily visits from Trigger bringing food and water, there had been no other sign of life in this place.

"-have to tell them-"

"-do to us?"

"-hiding him has no-"

Alex crept closer to the door, placing his head against the metal and concentrating hard. It sounded like Trigger, and he presumed the other was Mouse or Watch – he'd only heard them talk once and he didn't quite have their voice memorised.

They were arguing; that was obvious. Every so often one of the voices would rise threateningly, and the other would turn harsh. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, other than the odd word.

"-be angry-"

"-got no choice-"

It seemed as if they were debating over whether or not to tell Menarc about him, but he may have been reaching unjustified conclusions. He still had no idea what they really wanted with him – cooperate with what? Did they want information? What would they do with him if they didn't tell Menarc?

His door was abruptly thrown open and both Trigger and Watch appeared in his line of sight. He took a couple of steps backwards, wary of the gun Trigger was casually waving around. Watch smirked at him for his actions, but he didn't care. He prioritised his life over his pride.

"Scared of the gun, little boy?" Watch taunted. Alex rolled his eyes but didn't reply.

Trigger kicked in the plate and bent down cautiously to take out the old. Alex stood stock still.

"Let's go," Trigger muttered, holding open the door for Watch. Shooting him one last cold glare, the men left, and Alex let out a sigh of relief. He waited until the door was firmly shut and their footsteps had faded away before falling in front of the food. He was weak by now, the limited food wreaking havoc on his already malnourished body. If he was going to escape, he had to do it soon; his body would not be strong enough to run for much longer. The only problem was that he could see no way of fleeing without facing certain death. His sole choice was to wait it out for a good opportunity, despite knowing that every minute he wasting he was getting weaker, and the likelihood of torture was growing stronger.

He was unsure of how long he'd been kept in the cell, but he gathered it had been several days. There was no outside window and he hadn't seen sunlight since he'd been taken. Then again, it was England, and there was no guarantee he'd see the sun even if he was outside – he'd been deprived of natural light for longer in the country, after all. He slept when he was tired, ate when he was given food, and tried to ration his water as best as he could. Any spare time he tried to use up by exercising, keeping both his physical and mental state as fit as it could be. He avoided being left in the silence with his thoughts, knowing the memories and panic could destroy him faster than Menarc would ever manage.

He picked up the bread and stuffed it in his mouth, not caring that it tasted stale and hard. There was no mould, and that was all he cared about. He sat cross-legged on the ground, eating like the starved creature he was. He tried to slow down, knowing swallowing too fast may cause him to throw up, but he couldn't help himself. He spared a thought to what Ben would think but Ben wasn't there, and he wouldn't ever be. Anyway, the man would understand.

Sated slightly from the bread, he scooted backwards so that he was resting against the wall, picking dirt of the apple he had been given. He wondered what Ben was doing – was he looking for him? Worrying?

It was a stupid question; of course Ben was anxious for him. The man was always fussing over him, trying all he could to break down his barriers and let him in. It had worked, really, although Alex didn't often show it. He cared for Ben deeply, more than he did the others. Ben would never replace Jack, but he didn't try to. He offered something else entirely, a place to go when it was all too much and gentle advice when he needed it. He knew what it was like to fight, though not to the same extent, and he understood the powerful force that was MI6. Alex never had to explain anything with him, and that was a big enough change from Jack that he never felt he was betraying her memory – added to the fact that Ben was obviously male, not female. He would miss Jack to the end of his days, but he was no longer alone and he could never thank Ben enough for that.

* * *

Time passed slowly when he was in the cell. He was bored, as much as he knew he shouldn't be. It was the truth, however, and he couldn't change the fact that he had absolutely nothing to do. Despite the instructions from Mouse to 'think it over', he was avoiding doing precisely that. He knew his answer, anyway. There was no way he would ever cooperate with the terrorists, but he dreaded to think how they would try to persuade him.

There was a sharp rapping on the door approximately two days after Trigger and Watch had given him food, and he was starving. He had no idea why the food had suddenly disappeared, and he had heard nothing for those two long days. He didn't know what was going on, and he hated it.

The door swung open and Trigger was standing there, pointing a gun, as always, at his head. His face was pale and strained, but there was no food or water in his hand.

"Where's my food?" Alex demanded, feeling his stomach rumble in protest as he spoke. Trigger scowled.

"You're coming with me," was all he said, reaching out to grab Alex's arm and press the cold metal of the gun to his forehead. Alex sighed, submitting quietly. There was little he could do as he was frogmarched out of the cell and down the corridors.

The journey was surprisingly long, further than he was brought before. They climbed up several staircases, the air seemingly becoming fresher each time, although that could have been his imagination. Trigger didn't say a word, no matter how much Alex taunted him.

Finally, Alex was hauled inside a plainly furnished room. There was a desk and projector screen in the middle, but little else. Trigger drew out some handcuffs, slipping them firmly onto Alex's wrists.

"Hey!" Alex protested, wriggling his hands out of Trigger's grip. The man growled – actually _growled_ – and slammed the butt of the gun down on his head. Alex gasped in pain, curling in on himself as the ache reverberating throughout his body. Trigger took the opportunity to lock the handcuffs in place before pushing him down to sit at the table. He stood behind him, the gun still pointing directly at him.

"Sit down and stay silent," the man ordered him, his voice hard. His trembling fingers and white countenance gave away his fear however, and Alex wondered exactly what was going to happen.

The quiet of the room was disturbed a few seconds later when a youngish man, in his thirties perhaps, breezed into the room, a gun hanging loosely from his right hand. Trigger immediately straightened up, his face turning blank.

The new man smiled, and Alex evaluated him with his eyebrows raised. Physically fit, by the looks of it, and confident enough. He seemed to have installed fear in Trigger, and that was all it took for Alex to begin to worry, too.

"Thank you for fetching him, Michael," the new man said graciously. Trigger nodded from behind him, and Alex frowned. Why give away his name? Any knowledge was power, surely the man would know this.

The answer was granted to him when the young man's gun blasted a hole through Trigger's forehead. Trigger fell, silently, to the floor, a puddle of blood already forming around his head. Alex didn't flinch, ignoring the memories of Jack's very similar position only a few short months ago, and cocked his head to the side.

"Not loyal enough for you?" Alex asked the man calmly. He would show no weakness.

The man sat down, his smile never leaving his face. He oozed danger from every pore – quiet, deadly, fast, and very sure in his own power. "I couldn't allow him to go free after his actions now, could I?"

"You're from Menarc," Alex stated, gathering immediately that Trigger, Watch, and Mouse must have confessed their kidnapping of him and reaped the consequences. The other two would have presumably met the same end as Trigger.

The man laughed. "I've been told you're quick," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Rider."

"I didn't catch your name," Alex retorted, leaning back in the chair and resting his handcuffed hands on his lap. He fell easily back into the pattern of polite chit-chat with the enemy, relieved that at least he knew the score here. Trigger had been a loose cannon, and not someone he could predict.

"How about . . . hmm, Trigger?" the man suggested slowly, and Alex involuntarily felt his eyes widen. How had the man known about his nicknames for the three? He'd never mentioned them aloud, he didn't think.

"You're a delight to watch on camera, Mr Rider," the man declared, grinning. Alex sighed. He knew he had been watched; he must have muttered out loud to himself at some point over the last few days – or mumbled in his sleep.

"Did you enjoy the show?" Alex responded, attempting to fold his arms but encountering difficulties when he remembered the handcuffs. The man's grin stretched wider when Alex huffed in frustration.

"I'm not sure Trigger really suits me, you know," the man mused thoughtfully, completely ignoring Alex's response. He got up and wandered over to behind Alex, where he lashed out suddenly and kicked Trigger's body with a thud. Alex stared at him. "No," the man continued. "Only a fool relies on their gun. I have much . . . better weapons."

"You're not the head of Menarc," Alex said, gazing at the man carefully, who flung himself back into a chair.

"Oh, very good, Mr Rider," he said happily. "MI6 have done their research!"

"Who are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the man retorted, before sighing. "If you must give me a name, I think Mener would suit me well."

Alex thought for a second. "To lead, in French," he stated confidently. Mener smiled at him. "But you're not in charge."

"Oh, must you keep bringing that up?" the man groaned. "Fine, fine, I'm under orders from the boss himself, but it is fun to think that I am in control of you, isn't it?"

"No one controls me," Alex hissed.

Mener barked out a laugh. "I like you, Rider," he said. "Feisty thing, aren't you?"

"Will you explain what is going on?" Alex asked, finally fed up with the inane small talk.

"So boring," Mener muttered, before straightening up and fixing him with a sharp glare. "Fine, ask away."

"What are you planning to do to me?"

"Oh, that would be giving it away!" Mener said in delight, before demanding: "ask another."

"What happened to the other two?" Alex asked, accepting that he wasn't going to get an answer to the first query – not that he had expected to.

"What do you think?" Mener replied, rolling his eyes and gesturing to the fallen body on the ground. The pool of blood was gradually growing larger, and Alex couldn't bear to look behind him. "If you don't have anything interesting to say . . ." he trailed off, but Alex found he had little desire to find out exactly what the rest of the sentence was.

"You were going to leave me alone," Alex stated, and Mener nodded. "Why?"

"We had little use for you," the man said, shrugging. "With the methods we had at our disposal at the time, you weren't going to break."

"But you think I now will?"

"Well, since our favourite people went to all the effort of kidnapping you, we might as well _try _and wheedle out some information, don't you think?" Mener told him.

"I won't tell you a thing," Alex said confidently.

Mener chuckled. "Don't speak too soon," he said. "Anyway, it will give you a lovely opportunity to witness some of our newest work while you're here."

"What's that?" Alex questioned, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"We're following in dear Scorpia's footsteps and taking requests," Mener told him obscurely, ruffling his hair. Alex found it hard to reconcile this man's harsh actions and words with the youthful image in front of him.

"What request?" he demanded. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

"You'd be surprised how many people out there don't like Britain very much," Mener said, laughing slightly.

"And yet you're British yourself," Alex pointed out, his eyes narrowed.

"You like my accent, then?" the man gasped in mock gratitude. The expression melted away into a smirk. "I practiced for ages on it. I wanted to be an actor, once, you know."

"I can tell," Alex said dryly, trying to guess where the man may be from then. He looked European – though could be American equally.

Mener glanced at the thick watch on his wrist, one Alex recognized when he thought about it. It had belonged to Watch, yet more confirmation that the man in front of him was crazy.

"That's-" he started to say, but stopped himself. It would do no good, and why did he care, anyway? It wasn't as if Watch had ever been kind to him. It just seemed like such a grievous crime, stealing from a dead man. Mener saw where he was looking and bared his teeth like a wolf.

"You like?" he asked, before shaking his head. "No matter, I must go. I'll get someone to escort you back." Mener stood, stretching like a cat before strolling over to the door. "Trigger will keep you company while I'm gone. He's a real talker, that one." Mener kicked out at the dead man again and picked up the fallen gun, before sweeping from the room, locking the door behind him.

Alex was left staring at the empty wall, trapped in a room with a dead body. Mener was completely, utterly, insane. There was no question about it.

* * *

_A/N: I hope this makes up for the wait. Yet again, I am so sorry - I was undertaking NaNoWriMo last month - something I highly recommend, despite its stressful nature! - and so found myself with very little time to write. I will try not to let it take so long again._

_I . . . have very little to say about this chapter. I hope no one is too confused, It's difficult remembering what I have written, and what I have just thought. Sometimes I forget to explain certain things! As always, I'm happy to chat away to anyone :)_

_Oh, and thank you so much to those people who pointed out a very embarrassing mistake last chapter where Mouse openly referred to Watch as Watch, when they were only supposed to be nicknames Alex gave them - it has been fixed! I can't believe I didn't spot it :o this is why I rely so much on reviews when I have no beta._

_Please do review!_

_Dreams x_


	18. Disaster

_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz_

* * *

_'The main battlefield for good is not the open ground of the public arena but the small clearing of each heart'_

_(Yann Martel, 'Life of Pi')_

Alex was startled from his contemplation of the newest psychopath he'd encountered by the opening of the door. Alex glanced up from his seat, deliberately averting his eyes from the dead body on the floor. A plainly dressed man with a subtle scar searing through his eyebrow entered, a gun held casually in his hand. His expression was blank and his posture screamed confidence and grace. He held the door open with one foot and fixed Alex with his gaze. Alex raised an eyebrow, determined not to be intimidated.

"Get up," the man barked with a faint Italian accent and Alex cocked his head to the side. A fake accent, just as Mener's had been, or was he truly foreign? His looks gave him no clue either way; his face was lightly tanned, his hair a soft brown. His only distinguishing feature was the scar on his forehead, and Alex gave up the puzzle as hopeless. No doubt the normality was deliberate.

Alex heaved a sigh, wanting to express reluctance in following the order whilst keeping an eye on the gun. He was certain these men would not pause at the thought of hurting him, no matter how old he was. He pulled himself to his feet, standing about two metres from the man and not moving an inch.

The man's face slid into a brief scowl before he moved swiftly next to Alex, allowing the door to shut behind him. The gun came up until it was pointed directly at his chest and Alex inwardly rolled his eyes, sighing at the unoriginality.

"Walk," the man snapped, and Alex did as he said, beginning to turn to avoid the pool of blood seeping from Trigger, lying inert and frozen on the floor. Instead, the man took insane delight in shoving him forward unexpectedly, causing Alex to stumble directly into the sticky, ruby red blood. The substance splashed up slightly and flecks of blood appeared on his clothes. Alex looked down once but his head shot up again, sickened. He walked with as much dignity and poise as he could out of the puddle of blood, but knew the liquid was printed on the soles of his shoes. The image of the blood scarred the back of his eyes and he swallowed, nauseous but unwilling to show it. To a man who held the gun as if it was an extension of his hand, any reaction to blood would be considered weak – and Alex would not allow himself to be thought of as that.

The man behind him walked around the blood, the gun never once wavering in its target. He grabbed onto Alex from behind and the young spy knew it would be stupid to resist when he would only end up in the same position as Trigger. There was a faint smile on the man's face when Alex twisted around to glare at him.

"You're disgusting," Alex spat, unable to see what the man's purpose had been in pushing him into the blood. Humiliation and power, he supposed.

The man responded by digging the gun into the base of his spine and ordering him to walk. There was a hint of laughter in the voice, and the nausea Alex felt deepened.

"Open it," the man demanded when they reached the door. Alex did as he said with some difficulty considering the handcuffs, discreetly examining the lock as he did so. It looked simple enough, but it undoubtedly wasn't.

Alex was marched back to his cell in complete silence. He had nothing to say to the man and wasn't going to risk injury by insulting him with no purpose. Every word he'd spoken to Trigger or the others had been to gain information of some sort, but this man seemed to be nothing more than a type of grunt, following orders instead of issuing. Nothing useful could be gained, especially when he seemed so sadistic.

The quiet was not broken until Alex was shoved back into his cell, his handcuffs removed at gunpoint, and the man about to shut the door. Alex threw himself forward, catching the heavy metal with a hand and praying the man wouldn't shoot him.

"I need food, water," he hissed, a tone of desperation in his voice that he tried hard to hide. He hadn't had anything for two days, and he knew he would weaken fast. Already, his throat was parched and swallowing was difficult.

The man looked at him, no expression of his face at all. It was unnervingly like looking at a robot, and Alex knew appealing to the man's good nature wouldn't do him any good. He tried another tactic.

"Menarc wants me alive," he said quickly, taking advantage of the man's silence. "I can't survive without food or water for long, and Menarc will be pissed off if I die."

"A man can live around five days without water, you have a while," the man said, watching him with calm eyes. "Besides, you have a litre bottle of water in there."

Alex supposed that was true; Trigger had brought it with Watch that day, along with the food. That was the only reason Alex wasn't collapsed from dehydration, but it wasn't enough for several days.

"That won't last," he argued, staring at the man with a hard gaze. "I don't know what Menarc wants to do with me, but I bet your boss won't be impressed if I'm unconscious for their plans. I need food and water."

The man tilted his head, his face twisting into a faint snarl. "I don't have to bring you anything," he spat, resentment transparent in his voice. Another ex-Scorpia member? Or simply someone who was fed up with being ordered around?

Alex opened his mouth to reply but was taken by surprise as the man aimed a hard kick at his shin. He drew his leg back instinctively and the man took the opportunity to slam the door shut. There was the sound of the lock being shut on the other side and he heard the man walk away, his footsteps heavy and unrushed.

Alex spun on the spot, growling under his breath. He'd achieved _nothing_ by begging, he was still just as hungry and thirsty as before. He looked longingly at the bottle of water on the floor, wishing it would magically refill itself so that there was more than a quarter left. He'd had the sense to preserve some of it, but he hadn't known – and still didn't know – how long it would be before more water was gifted to him. Food he could live without, although he was getting weaker by the day.

He slumped on the bed, frustration filling his thoughts. He had been here for days and he was still no closer to understanding what they wanted from him. Menarc seemed to believe they could miraculously break him and force him into spilling government secrets, when they hadn't managed before. The more they tortured him, the more determined he'd been never to talk. What had changed now? A new torture instrument? New torturer?

_(-"you'll always remember me, Rider, won't you?"-)_

He flinched, trying and failing to catch the movement before it occurred as the memory flashed before his eyes. He glanced up into the corners of the room, attempting to spot the hidden cameras that Mener had admitted were there. But the room was dingy and the corners shadowed. He was unable to pinpoint any disturbance in the white walls that would indicate the presence of a camera.

He got up slowly, and wandered around the room, trailing a hand along the wall as he did so. He looked carefully at the walls, wondering if there may be a camera at his height too, but he found nothing. He sighed loudly, the air catching in his throat as annoyance coursed through him. He hated this ignorance. He wanted to scream at the world, yell out his frustration to everyone who was watching, but he didn't dare. He had the overwhelming desire to throw something or punch the wall or do something - _anything _– to express these boiling emotions that were threatening to drown him. And underneath it all, ever present but never allowed to rise to the surface, was fear, bubbling away quietly. He knew well that it would erupt one day, if he didn't prevent it. It was like a volcano, biding its time: dormant, but never truly forgotten about.

He slid into a jog smoothly, hunger pains jolting him every few strides as he circled the room, but at least he was active. His emotions were kept at bay when adrenaline and endorphins flooded through him, even if he knew burning more calories was stupid when he had received so little food.

He wondered how ridiculous he must look to Menarc, and how desperate. He couldn't avoid the comparison to a hamster spinning on its wheel, round and round, never actually moving anywhere. He hated this – detested being trapped alone more than anything else – but he wouldn't allow his mind to destroy itself, and that meant keeping active.

He collapsed on the floor, leaning against the wall as he panted, after only a few short laps. He was exhausted now, his muscles shaky and weak and he cursed himself for his foolishness. Who knew how many days he'd knocked off his life-span by that wasting of energy? But at the same time, he couldn't afford to be unfit and unable to fight if he did manage to escape.

He heard footsteps outside the door and jumped to his feet, wishing with all his might that it was someone bringing food. His heart tightened as the door swung open, and the same man as earlier appeared. His face was set in a scowl and he threw in a Tupperware of food and a fresh bottle of water – a smaller five hundred millilitres one this time.

"Thanks," Alex said quietly, cursing that he felt gratitude towards the man who wouldn't question orders to injure or kill him, but wanting to express the feeling regardless.

The man nodded shortly, his face unchanging, and Alex wondered if he'd lost some respect from the man. He would appreciate fighting, but giving in and thanking someone? That would surely be a sign of weakness in his eyes.

"I'll be back for you tomorrow," he warned, danger lurking in his voice.

As the man shut the door behind him, Alex fell forwards onto the food and water, ravenous and parched. He was so occupied with the food that the words of the man didn't filter through until much later, when he was lying, fairly content, on the bed. He shut his eyes, and slept. He wouldn't dwell on it.

He_ couldn't._

* * *

There was no difference between morning and evening in Alex's room, and so when he woke up he pondered what had awakened him. He felt like it had been only minutes since he'd been asleep, and closed his eyes again.

The sound of the lock startled him into swinging out of the bed a moment later, and he realised he must have heard footsteps in his sleep. The door was pushed open and the man – whom he really ought to make up a nickname for, 'the man' sounded stupid even in his head – entered.

Alex straightened up, running a hand through his hair to try and smooth down the ruffled bed-head. He glared at the man – or Scarred, as he would call him, he decided quickly. It was easy, simple, and effective at describing the man. If he ever escaped, he'd need some way of remembering the people he'd met and detailing their image to MI6.

"Come on," the man ordered, wearing his familiar blank face. Alex obeyed, eyeing the gun out of the corner of his eye. It had changed from yesterday; Scarred was now carrying a smaller pistol – a Beretta by the looks of it.

He was marched through the corridors at gunpoint until he was once again shoved into the same room as the day before, and handcuffed. Alex was almost relieved to note that Trigger's body had been moved and the blood cleaned up, although it was disturbing how easy it was to forget that such a violent crime had even happened.

Scarred pushed his forcefully down in a chair and walked out of the room, slamming and locking the door behind him. Alex was once again left alone in the room, wondering when captivity had become ninety five percent waiting.

He didn't have long to ponder this time though before Mener breezed in, no gun in his hand today although Alex suspected he had one hidden on his person. He was followed, strangely, by a woman.

She was wearing no make-up, her light brown hair left loose around her face. She was pretty, he supposed, in an unconventional way. Her body was slender and she was dressed in casual bright leggings and a flowing top. It was an odd combination – not that Alex knew much about fashion, he admitted to himself – but it suited her. He could see defined muscles on her arms and legs, however, and had no doubt she was capable of defending herself if needs be. The handgun she held loosely in her right hand put the finishing touches on the weird outfit. She had an ethereal look, her eyes gazed off as if she wasn't really present, and she seemed more like an artist or writer than a terrorist. Still, he knew all too well that appearances could be misleading.

"Good morning," Mener greeted him cheerfully, sitting gracefully in a chair opposite him. The man reached across and flicked a switch on the wall, and the projector jolted into life, a blank screen appearing.

"Mr Rider," the woman said, nodding, extracting a laptop from her bag which he hadn't noticed before. Her voice was low for a woman's. She took the chair next to Mener and powered up the laptop. Her position opposite him meant he couldn't see what she was doing.

"May I introduce Malin?" Mener said, gesturing towards the woman. She nodded, and Alex guessed they had already worked out a code name for her.

"Fan of French, aren't you?" Alex replied. "Lead and Smart, very inventive."

"It's a beautiful language," Mener retorted, shrugging.

"And not yours in origin," Alex sighed, figuring Mener would never be so obvious as to give away his home country like that.

Mener smiled. "We have more important things to discuss, today," he said, changing the subject.

"You have been very hard to break before, Mr Rider," Malin remarked absently, her attention still on the computer screen. Alex was getting more and more curious as to what she was doing, and what in hell it had to do with him.

"That'll change," Mener commented, and his expression held a touch of malice.

Alex shook his head, laughing a little. "Why are you so confident?"

"Oh, physical torture won't break you," Mener agreed, and Alex frowned. "We will simply have to try other methods."

Alex didn't fall into the trap of asking.

"Now, I feel you're owed a little explanation of the situation, just so that you understand our . . . motivation later on," Mener said, an easy smile playing around his lips. Malin didn't look up. "I told you before that Britain is not the most popular country at times, and one man in particular has found himself with a grudge against you lot. He's a powerful man to piss off, too; not the most sensible thing this country's ever done."

"What has this got to do with me?" Alex asked, eyes narrowing. Somehow he didn't think this was the traditional boasting of the mad man's plan. There was something else going on here.

"Patience," Mener growled. "Now, the man in question is a very wealthy owner of an oil company, and has the added desire to get the British troops out of Afghanistan, so a plan was hatched."

"Tolo," Alex deduced, remembering the message MI6 had received from their spy mentioning the oil company.

"Yes!" Mener exclaimed, surprise in his voice. "MI6 has impressed me with their information, I have to say."

"So the owner of Tolo hates Britain and wants British troops out of Afghanistan, presumably because it's disturbing his company there," Alex concluded.

"Well done," Mener said, leaning over to whisper something in Malin's ear as she continued typing on the laptop.

"Tell me what you're planning, then," Alex demanded. It would be nothing good; he knew that. "What's the link with Iraq?"

"Now that would be telling, wouldn't it?" Mener said, cocking his head to the side. "Just be assured that the consequences will be . . . catastrophic."

Alex sat up straight, glaring at the man. "What's the point to this?" he hissed, knowing as he spoke the futility of the question. Madmen don't think logically or morally.

Mener laughed, and even Malin smiled a little, but neither were pleasant. "Money, of course," Mener answered

"This is going to kill people, isn't it?" Alex asked, dread settling in his stomach.

"Thousands," Mener confirmed, a sadistic grin on his face. "And you'll get to witness it."

"What do you want with me?" Alex questioned. He thought he already knew the answer.

"We want information," Malin interrupted, glancing up from the laptop. "You know many government secrets, Mr Rider, and that would be useful to us."

"And this is linked to Afghanistan because . . .?"

"You have the power to save lives," Mener said. A lead weight appeared in Alex's chest as his fears were realised. "Give us information on MI6, SAS, the CIA, and the British government, and we will minimise the damage."

"But not stop it?" Alex asked, wishing he could curl in on himself and pretend it wasn't happening. How could he make that choice? Protecting government secrets that could result in many deaths later on if he confessed, or saving the people who would surely die by Menarc's hand. It was an impossible decision.

Mener shook his head. "We have to follow our client's wishes," he told Alex, "but we could reduce the deaths if you cooperated."

"How can I trust you?" Alex said desperately, knowing the answer in his heart.

Mener grinned.

"Have we ever given you a reason not to?" he replied, and Alex wanted to scream. "We'll give you a moment alone while we put the finishing touches on the plan," Mener said. Malin gathered up her laptop and they both stood.

Alex watched in silence as they left the room, locking the door behind them, wondering what on earth he was going to do.

* * *

Five minutes later, Alex was no closer to a decision. His mind was warring with itself; MI6 and his country versus the lives of strangers, being declared a traitor to his country or watching as thousands died. It didn't help that he knew many people would perish in whatever plan the terrorist organisation had cooked up, whatever choice he made.

Mener and Malin would be coming back soon, he knew, and he had to act. He would never forgive himself if he didn't even try to stop them. He had to get out, escape, warn MI6 . . . warn them of what? What did he know, really? Menarc were planning a strike of some sort against Britain and the head of Tolo was behind it? He didn't even know where in the country he was – if he still was in England at all.

But he had to do something.

When the door opened and Mener stepped through first, as Alex had suspected he would, Alex was ready. It was a foolhardy plan, a desperate one dreamt up in the short time he had to formulate a course of action. If he was truly honest with himself, it wasn't really a plan at all, just the idea to sort of . . . wing it?

He jumped out from his hiding place on the other side of the door, trying to ignore the small voice that whispered the likeness to hide and seek, and kicked Mener rapidly in the spleen and groin. He was counting on the man being too surprised to take out his gun, and it worked. The man dropped quickly, but he wasn't unconscious. The rapid crunch of the chair hitting the back of his head soon achieved the desired affect, and Alex moved out to Malin, who had brought up her gun. The fight with Mener had taken only a few seconds, and the man had not been able to fight back.

"Bastard," Malin hissed as her previously ethereal expression twisted into anger. The gun fired and Alex ducked, knowing as he did that he would be too slow to make a difference. But the bullet only clipped his upper arm and he noticed that Mener had roused already – or more likely had not been unconscious at all – and had flung out his arm to grab onto the nearest thing. In this case, it was Malin's leg. She had swiftly shaken him off, but the momentary distraction had resulted in the swerve of the bullet.

Alex gasped at the pain nonetheless, noting quickly it hadn't hit anything vital and was only bleeding sluggishly. He'd been lucky. He moved faster than ever before, knowing that he only had a brief moment before Malin fired again. A powerful roundhouse kick hit her in the solar plexus and she gasped, breathless, and doubled over for a fraction of a second. At the same time, he whacked the gun out of her hand, and it spun across the floor, skidding to a stop a metre or so away.

Malin growled, recovering herself, and the fight began properly. Alex was fighting with difficulty due to the handcuffs, but he used them as a heavy weapon every so often. He relied far more on spinning out of her way and kicking. Both of them were unarmed, although they each shot glances to the gun every few seconds, calculating the length of time needed to grab it. Neither took the risk, instead concentrating on the hand-to-hand (or leg) combat taking place. His initial assessment of Malin had been correct – she had well-developed and strong muscles, regardless of her appearance. She was powerful and well-trained, and he was having a hard time fending her off. It had been a long time since he had fought, and the weakness was beginning to show. More and more of her hits were landing, and Alex felt sore all over. It was all he could do to keep moving.

_Bang!_

Mener had gathered his wits about him and grabbed hold of his gun, hidden in a holster under his t-shirt. The shot missed both of them; they were moving too fast for Mener to aim accurately, compounded by his head injury.

Alex knew that wouldn't last long. Soon enough one of those bullets would hit him, whether it was deliberately aimed so or not. Of course, chances were one would hit Malin too, but he couldn't take the risk. He delivered one last attack to Malin and took a deep breath.

He ran for the door, praying to hell Mener hadn't regained enough sense to shoot accurately and Malin wouldn't retrieve the gun until after he had left. He was tense, waiting for that fatal shot, but he cleared the door, turning left into the corridor. He didn't know where he was going, but he had to bloody well try.

He had gone no more than three steps when he heard a rushing of heavy footsteps. He looked around, desperate. He couldn't go back in the direction of Malin and Mener, but neither did he want to go towards these men, whoever they were. He was stuck.

A group of about five heavily armed men rounded the corner and charged at him. He eyed their hefty guns now pointing directly at him and resigned himself to failure. He slowly raised his handcuffed hands in the universal symbol for surrender. The men surrounded him, their guns never wavering.

_Damn, _was his main thought – or a variation thereof.

"Have you got him secured?" came Malin's voice, ringing clearly through the corridor. Alex didn't relax his stiff posture, but dropped his hands, despite knowing that there was absolutely no way he could escape now without being shot.

"Yes, Ma'am," one of the men said, nodding his head as Malin strode up to them. Her face was red and there were several marks that would develop into bruises. Alex was strangely pleased that he'd managed to hurt her in some way. The men parted for Malin to walk through and stand next to Alex. The gun was once again back in her hand, and Alex gave up his position, taking a step back and standing up straight, holding his head proudly. He'd done well, in his opinion. _Not well enough,_ whispered a voice, and he knew it spoke the truth.

"That was foolish," Malin told him quietly, looking at him carefully. She seemed far more like a fighter now, and less like some sort of artist. She didn't have the same aura of power that Mener had, but she was strong in another way. She was mentally capable, always together and always thinking logically.

Alex shrugged in response to her words. "It was worth a try," he said, the desperation creeping back into his mind. He had failed, and failure meant that thousands of people would die. What did he do to deserve this sort of decision?

"You just ended up getting hurt," Malin retorted, but her voice was strangely gentle. She reached out to touch his upper arm. He flinched away, the pain from the bullet slice only just registering again. The adrenaline coursing through his system had masked the throbbing. It wasn't bleeding too badly, and the slice wasn't too deep. He wouldn't bleed to death, but he'd need to be careful it didn't get infected.

"So did you," Alex pointed out, a hint of a smirk on his face. Handcuffed, weak, and defenceless, and he'd still managed to get away from two armed terrorists.

Malin snarled slightly. She turned to the men. "Escort him back to the main projector room, if you would," she ordered them, before storming off in the direction from which she came. Presumably, she'd be sorting out Mener and getting him coherent again.

* * *

Ten minutes later, all three of them were sitting back in the exact same positions in the projector room, as Malin had called it. Alex was clutching his upper arm as best as he could with handcuffs on, trying to stop the last of the bleeding. When back in his room, he'd bind some sort of cloth around it to keep it clean, but he had nothing at hand at the moment. Malin and Mener were opposite him; Malin bruising up in a few places, but Mener holding an ice pack to his head. Both of them looked somewhat the worst for wear. Alex knew he looked worse – Malin had hit him far more than he had her, mainly because she had the use of both hands. He could feel his face blacking up, and he'd look awful in the morning.

The projector rumbled behind them and a blank screen appeared on the wall again. Malin had once more powered up her laptop and was furiously clicking through it. Mener was glaring at him in pure anger. Alex stared right back. He wasn't giving in.

"I had thought you were more intelligent than that," Mener said at last, his normal jokey tone replaced by something hard and unforgiving. "There will be consequences for your actions, of course."

Alex shuddered so lightly the others couldn't see. Consequences never meant anything good, and he wished for the hundredth of a time that he'd gone the other way down the corridor. He may have escaped the men entirely – although it was apparent Malin had managed to call for them, perhaps with an alarm, so he would have probably been captured anyway.

"It's ready," Malin muttered to Mener before Alex could reply. She typed a couple more sentences out and the image on the screen rapidly flickered over to what looked like a city.

"This is Birmingham," Mener informed him, his eyes cold. "Do you know its population, Rider?"

Well, the man must be pissed off; he'd dropped the mister. But at the same time as he joked to himself, Alex's heart was sinking fast. Whatever they were going to do, it was going to be catastrophic, and he was going to have to watch. Fire? Bomb? Some sort of plague, almost like invisible sword? How was it linked to Afghanistan and Iraq?

"I don't know," Alex answered finally, his voice quiet but steely.

"There are over 900,000 people living in the city," Mener told him. "Men, women, children . . . People just like you, Rider, and you're going to watch their deaths."

"What are you going to do?" he demanded, eyeing the laptop and calculating his chances.

Malin saw him and laughed briskly. "Don't think we're stupid, Mr Rider," she said. "It's not controlled from here; we're just streaming it for your enjoyment."

Alex shook his head, disgusted.

"Switch to the other view," Mener requested, and the screen changed. An innocuous building appeared, but it most certainly wasn't in England. The area around it was dry and dusty, the heat visible in waves.

"Iraq," Alex murmured, some of the plan coming together in his mind.

"That's right," Mener confirmed. "This building is positioned in the desert wasteland of southern Iraq, and most is hidden underground. Normal looking, isn't it?"

"What does it do?" Alex questioned, already suspecting the answer. Malin smirked at him, zooming in on the picture. There was nothing unusual about the building he could see, but as he watched, part of the roof began to open. The little seed of an idea planted in his head began to grow. He knew what was going on here.

"This is a missile silo, Rider," Mener explained, a touch of glee appearing for the first time. His earlier fury seemed almost forgotten. "From here, we can launch missiles that would destroy the world, if we wanted it to. In fact, I think your country has been investigating this area for a while. Of course, they would have found nothing but Al Qaeda operatives. Useful, and I expect the place will be raided in a few days to kill them off, but by that time we will have finished our job."

"If it's owned by Al Qaeda . . ." Alex began, frowning as he tried to think.

"I'm sure MI6 told you what we used to do – supply weapons, right?" Mener waited for his nod. "Well, of course, we gave them their weapons, powerful ones, so we know where their bases are. Then we slipped people in to the silo, killed off a few, and now, today, our people have seized full control."

"But it's coming from a known Al Qaeda base," Alex deduced. "Al Qaeda will take the blame."

"Exactly," Mener smiled. "And what will the British government do?"

"Pull troops out of Afghanistan and fly them to Iraq to fight off Al Qaeda." Alex scowled. The plan was frightening, catastrophic, but clever. Why would Britain suspect any other terrorist involvement than the obvious? Al Qaeda had been doing similar attacks for years; they wouldn't investigate further. The head of Tolo would have struck a blow to Britain, gotten the troops out of Afghanistan, and potentially gotten rid of competition in Iraq. Genius, but mad.

Mener laughed, and nodded. "Isn't it fantastic? We get our money, and our client gets what he desires."

"It's starting," Malin interrupted, her eyes aglow.

"You're mad," Alex said desperately, watching as the hole in the roof stopped growing. There was a storm of fire, like a rocket blasting, and the missile flew up into the air. "That'll kill millions!"

"Oh, not millions," Malin told him. "See, that there, was an intercontinental ballistic missile, capable of flying to Britain and hitting Birmingham in under an hour. No one will suspect it; the country isn't prepared to defend itself. It'll hit the city, and many will die, surely, but not as many as you might think. It's not a nuclear warhead on that missile."

Alex felt it was odd to sigh with relief, but if something did have to hit a British city, at least it wasn't nuclear. The results of that would spread nationwide, and cause more devastation than he could imagine. There was a reason a nuclear bomb hadn't been used since 1945 – the resulting war could kill off the entire world.

"No," Malin continued, "we managed to fit it with a conventional warhead. Powerful and damaging, but not as bad as nuclear. Menarc doesn't want a nuclear war any more than you do – where's the money in mutually assured destruction?"

"Why hit Birmingham?" Alex asked, questioning his sanity as he sat and discussed the details of the missile that would cause hundreds, thousands, of deaths, and that would hit Britain in a short space of time.

Mener shrugged, jumping back into the conversation. He had previously been watching the screen with delight. "We wanted the British government left alone. The purpose of this wasn't just to cause chaos, although we enjoy that too. We want the government to respond and move into Iraq, so we went for the next biggest city."

"I can't believe you're doing this," Alex said numbly, the reality starting to seep in. "The RAF or someone will notice – a missile entering airspace won't go unnoticed!"

"There's a convenient RAF training exercise on at the moment, with all the monitors acting as if there's been a catastrophe. Most don't know what is planned for the exercise, so initially they will react as if it's part of the training. By the time they realise it's real, it'll be too late."

"You've infiltrated the RAF?" Alex repeated in disbelief. They must be lying, surely. Neither Menarc nor Scorpia were that powerful.

"We're everywhere," Mener smirked. "And in half an hour the world will see exactly how widespread our influence is."

"This is insane!" Alex exclaimed, wishing beyond everything that they were merely delusional.

"I'll take you back to your room," Mener said, standing up at ordering him to walk.

"How do I know you've actually done it?" Alex demanded. "If you won't show me the impact, I won't believe you."

"Believe what you like," Mener shrugged. "Just remember, if you don't cooperate, more will die tomorrow. Don't think that's the only missile we have."

"You can't do this," he said in desperation as Mener walked him down the corridor at gunpoint.

"Oh trust me," Mener replied, shoving him inside the cell, his face feral, "we can, and we have. We'll show you the masterpiece tomorrow and see what your decision is."

Mener slammed the door shut, leaving Alex staring, open mouthed and white with shock, at the metal door. What could he possibly do?

* * *

_A/N: Some of you have already heard about my laptop issues - it has died and been sent off to laptop hospital in Germany to (hopefully) be repaired. Therefore I'm sorry this update was later than I would have liked, but it has taken me a while to organise some way of gaining access to a computer. I have dug out an old - very slow - one, so I will be able to update again despite not having my own laptop, though I will apologise now if there is a long gap between chapters._

_In other news, this fic will have a maximum of 25 chapters, in my opinion (at the moment). We are nearing the end! There is some action in here for the people who requested it, and even a woman (thanks to a very good idea of someone's)._

_If anyone is confused, PM me or write it in a review - I do try and reply if you sign in. Please do offer me your opinion!_

_Dreams x_


	19. Running

_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz, not me._

* * *

_'It seems I have no tears left. They should have fallen-_

_Their ghosts, if tears have ghosts, did fall - that day'_

_('Tears' by Edward Thomas)_

Alex was still pacing the cell hours after he had been deposited there by Mener. He'd taken a short break as he tried – and failed – to sleep, sometime in the afternoon, he guessed. But his mind wouldn't settle, and the rest would not overtake him, no matter how much he tried.

The image of the city of Birmingham, destroyed to a pile of rubble with bodies lining the streets, would not fade from behind his eyes. Despite Mener's assurance the missile would not cause as much damage as expected, the horrific pictures wouldn't dissipate. Not knowing was worse than anything, he believed. If he had seen the impact, his mind wouldn't exaggerate the effects. It didn't help that whenever he closed his eyes, the faces on the bodies moulded into those of Ben, K Unit, Tom – and Jack.

_(-red hair streaming, blood seeping carefully out, her face twisted into an expression of pain-)_

The flashbacks hit him throughout the afternoon, ripping through any progress he may have made with Ben. The memories of Jack's death haunted him, as did the recollections of his last stint with Menarc. Every time he allowed himself to pause and consider, blood would start flowing in images in his mind, until he was almost convinced he could see the red liquid in his room too.

He was going mad, and he knew it. Mener was right; this was the way to break him.

_No, _came a firm voice within his head. This would not destroy him. He wouldn't give in this easily. It had happened, the missile had launched, and people had been hurt and killed. He wouldn't increase that number by losing his mind completely. He was stronger than that – stronger than all of Menarc, because he had chosen the hard path of staying sane and morally right, and they had bent to the will of others, and given in. He wouldn't drop to their level, regardless of what they did to him.

But what of what they did to others? Would staying silent not hurt more? But speaking up and betraying his country could lead to many more deaths. No matter which way he turned, people were going to die, and he would be responsible. There was no right decision in this case.

For the first time in a long while, he cursed Ian for getting him into this position. That was what it came down to, wasn't it? More than MI6, more than Menarc, more than even himself, it was his uncle's fault for training him for spying, and abandoning him to the merciless government agency.

_Well, he never trained me for this_, Alex thought savagely. Maybe he could have told him what he would have done, offered advice, given Alex an easy way out.

Life isn't simple, though, and Alex knew that well. It was up to him to make a decision, and stick with it. There was no escape from this, and he had to face it.

Footsteps outside the corridor made him pause in his pacing, and he cocked his head to the side. He had estimated that it was the middle of the night, and although he may be wrong, he didn't think he was. Who would be coming to his cell at this time?

There was the sound of someone stopping directly outside of his cell, and of rustling. Opening the lock, no doubt, and sure enough the door swung inwards a moment later. Alex was standing, stock still, against the opposite wall, his face holding an expression only of polite interest. Give nothing away, and stay strong, was the idea.

The woman who entered wore a curious expression; not quite happy, though there was an element of excitement there, but perhaps relieved? There was a frown lingering over her brow, in contrast to the lighter emotions, and Alex wondered who the woman was. He had never seen her before, and she came with no food or water, the only reason strangers came to his room.

The woman swept a hand through her light brown hair, brushing it off her face. Most was tied back in a practical ponytail, but feather-like hairs hung down across her cheeks. She wore no make-up, nor jewellery. Her eyes shone with a fever-like glow, and Alex sighed as he realised that she, too, was probably mad.

"Alex Rider," she said quietly, examining him as she stepped forward fully into the room.

Alex nodded, thoroughly confused, and unwilling to show it.

"You look so like your father," she said, her voice as hard as it was hushed. She didn't seem to want to be overheard.

Alex started, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her in a whole new light. She knew his father, so most likely Scorpia, not Menarc – though they were one and the same in some cases. What did she want from him?

The woman shook her head, her face becoming blank as she gestured for him to come closer. "We need to leave," she ordered in a low-pitched voice. "We don't have long."

"Who are you?" Alex asked finally, his brain struggling to catch up as the exhaustion and starvation overwhelmed his body. "Go where?"

She jerked her head impatiently at the door. "Your father saved my life, once," she said quickly. "I'm repaying the favour. You'd better hurry up if you want to escape alive."

"You're helping me escape," Alex repeated slowly, frowning. He made no move towards the door. He didn't trust Menarc not to trick him, nor want to play mind-games with him.

"I will, if you'll bloody well move," she snapped, though her eyes didn't lose that bright excitement that her facial mask couldn't hide.

"How can I trust you?" he asked, stepping only one step closer, but no more.

She sighed, glancing towards the door in frustration. She slid off a backpack that Alex had barely registered and unzipped it. Inside was a tangled mess of wires, and Alex felt his eyes open in shock.

"What are you going to do with that?"

"Blow up the building, of course," she hissed, throwing the rucksack on her back again, and Alex winced. Surely a bomb should be treated with more care?

"Why?" he questioned, his eyes narrowed.

"Menarc need to be stopped," she said simply. "I owe a debt to your father I can never repay to him, so it falls to you. He rescued me when I was only a teenager, shot in the arm and bleeding out. He knew I was Scorpia – and I knew he was a spy," she added, when she saw Alex's face, "and yet he took me to a hospital, and even checked in on me a couple of days later." Her voice softened, but it gave her a sinister feel, not a gentle one. "He was a good man."

"Why stop Menarc?" Alex folded his arms.

"The bastards took over Scorpia, the most powerful terrorist organisation alive, and they have proceeded to _ruin _it. No more board, no more honouring debts – and there is honour amongst thieves, Alex, no matter how sceptical you are. I want them dead," she concluded savagely, and Alex realised how utterly unstable she was.

Alex nodded, running out of questions.

"Satisfied?" she barked, spinning on the spot. "May we move? The cameras in here aren't live, but we only have a couple of hours before they're checked, and this bomb is timed to go off in," she checked her watch, "twenty minutes."

Alex dithered for only a minute longer. Her story was ridiculous, her motivation utterly unbelievable, but he had little choice. If he wanted to save lives, including his own, he had to take this chance. And besides, that bomb looked real enough, and he wanted to be no where near the building when it exploded. He hurried over to her, following her out of the room as she turned and shut the door behind them.

"Locked by a special pass that was easy enough to get hold of," she told him flippantly and she locked the door. "Don't want anyone to notice an open door when we haven't escaped."

"Where are we going?" Alex asked, finding his voice at last.

"Firstly," she said, spinning around to smirk at him, the excitement visible. "We are going to the most central room in the compound, and we are going to place this bomb. Menarc are going to _pay_ for messing with Scorpia."

Alex trailed behind her closely as they marched dup the corridor. She held a handgun in her hand loosely, and he didn't doubt she would use it.

"Are we underground?" Alex whispered, trying to gather as much information as possible.

"No," she shook her head, "simply a mostly abandoned part of the compound with no windows. There is a basement, but the walls are so firmly built that exploding the bomb there will do little damage. The best chance we have is the centre."

"Is this Menarc head quarters?" Alex asked, his voice still quiet although they had come across no life so far. The cameras didn't swivel as they moved past them, and Alex presumed they too were monitored every so often, and were not live.

The woman laughed under her breath. "Of course not. This is an old Scorpia compound, mostly abandoned until the three idiots who took you headed here. A few Menarc members moved here after that, especially as Menarc needed a new compound urgently."

"Why bother blowing it up then?" Alex queried, his mind trying to puzzle it out as they ran, light-footed, along the bare corridors.

"To inflict damage," she retorted, her smile turning creepy again. Alex resolved to stay away from the issue, and held his silence. For the time being, he would have to trust in the strange woman. He had no gun, no way of defending himself, and he could feel the blood pounding in his head. He was in no state for a fight, and he resigned himself to protection from the woman.

They continued for a couple of minutes along the blank white walls, until windows started appearing, and there were rooms that didn't have locked metal doors. They then slowed down, checking corners before they turned, and the woman held her gun out at all times. She was expecting trouble; that was obvious.

They came across their first guard shortly, and Alex was opened his mouth to try and communicate a way of getting past the man who was sitting in a chair in a room with an open door just off the corridor. Before he could utter a word, the woman crept round the corner of the door and shot the man in the forehead. It was a clean shot, the man had no time to think or react, and he slumped in the chair – dead. The gun had only made the small subdued noise from a silencer, and Alex winced. The ease at which she performed the shot worried him, but he had no choice but to continue with her. She had already begun to walk along the corridor without him, and he hurried to catch up. He hoped killing would never come as easily to him, because then he knew he was lost, but at the same time he understood that he was, or would have to become, reconciled with death.

"We're close," the woman murmured a couple of minutes later, and Alex panicked as he realised he had no idea how much time had passed since they'd left the room, and he wasn't sure he trusted her enough to get them both out alive. She seemed mad enough to not care if she died in the attempt. "It's just around the corner."

She leaned around the corner carefully when they got to it, checking to see if the coast was clear. A couple of shots and thumps later revealed it now was, and Alex flinched again. She stepped out, and Alex lost track of what happened next.

Her body hit the ground next to his, a loud shot echoing from behind them, and he acted on instinct, grabbing her falling gun before it hit the ground and spinning, faster than he'd ever moved before, knowing his life now depended on this. He raised the gun up to the man's face who had crept up on them, just as the man was once again aiming his weapon at Alex. Alex's instruction in instinctive shooting served him well as he fired off a bullet before the man had fully measured up the target, the normal shooting technique slow and clumsy compared to that taught by Scorpia. Time seemed to slow as the bullet travelled at around 300 metres per second, and Alex watched the stillness of the strange man as the lethal round object sped towards him. The man could have a family, kids – unlikely, but the point was that Alex didn't know. He would always mourn those lost possibilities, the unknowns with which he was left. The man's image would stay with him forever, as would the sight of the impact, the tiny bullet drilling perfectly into the man's forehead, leaving little blood but a whole load of internal mess as it buried itself in the man's head.

The man crumpled, dead on impact, and fell backwards on the floor. Alex froze for only a moment, his mind trying to unite the dead body with the gun still held pointing forwards in his hand. Alex shook his head, the knowledge that he had to _move _pushing through the fog. Almost mindlessly, he picked up the woman's rucksack with his other hand, never letting go of the gun. He studiously ignored the blood seeping out. The loud shot of the man, who obviously had no silencer, would soon attract more people to the area, and even now the timer on the bomb was ticking down. He would make the woman's sacrifice worth it, no matter how crazed she may have been.

He rounded the corner, listening carefully for any movement, and deposited the bag in a nearby room. He didn't know precisely where the woman had planned for it to go, but it would do. He wouldn't waste any more time pondering. He tucked it around the side of a cupboard, hoping the basic hiding place would disguise it for another few minutes, or however long he had left until it went off.

He glanced around helplessly for a moment, knowing clearly in his mind that he was lost in this compound, and hearing a phantom ticking of the bomb in his head. He had to go, but where? He wouldn't go back – he'd seen no exit where they were and the woman had said it was an abandoned area, therefore unlikely to have an open door to the outer world. His only choice was to go forward into unknown territory, and take a chance.

He strode quickly away from the direction of the dead bodies, refusing to allow himself to think about it. He could freak over the events when he was safe, not before, he told himself firmly, and clutched the gun tighter in his hand. He tried to keep as quiet as possible, knowing guards were going to have been alerted, although he didn't see any for a long time.

The first man who came across was lounging in a room off the corridor, twirling a gun in his hand. Alex felt a moment's panic that he squashed down. Could he do what the woman had done, and shoot a man in cold blood? Or should he take a chance and creep past? The indecision hovered in his mind, and he knew he wasn't thinking straight. The traumatic events and malnutrition was wreaking havoc on his cognitive process, but he had to choose. Shoot, or run. Kill, or risk losing his own life.

He lingered for a moment longer, before peering around the doorframe and checking the man wasn't looking. Every so often he spun in his chair, and Alex knew he was taking a big risk – at any moment, the man might turn. Nonetheless, clinging onto his gun so tightly his knuckles were white, he bolted across the doorway, not stopping until he was a metre or so away from the room. He waited, listening carefully, ready to shoot if he had to, but no movement came. He'd made it without being seen. It left no body for someone to find, and preserved a small part of his soul that hadn't been ripped apart already. Self-defence he could cope with – or would be able to, with the help of Ben and his psychiatrist, but killing in cold-blood? He never wanted to be able to do that without a pause.

Alex continued on his journey, taking the straight corridor when he could and randomly picking a path when there was a junction. He saw no more men, and remembered what the woman had said – only a few men from Menarc had moved in. He had no idea what she had been planning on doing after planning the bomb, one of the reasons he was secretly a bit relieved she hadn't managed to, as Menarc wouldn't take her back, and Scorpia no longer existed.

_Tick, tick, tick_

His mind supplied the imagery noise of a clock, and he winced, knowing he had no clue how long he had left, or indeed if he was far enough away. He had to get out, but he was totally lost. It was becoming a matter of life and death.

The sound of a man talking filtered into his mind and he slowed, trying to pinpoint its location. There was only one voice, and he presumed that meant the man was on the phone. He bit his lip, and idea forming. He hated it, despised the necessity and the mask it would need, but he _had _to escape. It was a risk, but a calculated one.

He brought up the gun so that it was held out in front of him, and he blanked his expression, making his face and body language hard. He had to appear dangerous, or this would not work. He waited for the man to say goodbye to the person on the phone and breathed deeply when he heard the words.

He rounded the corner slowly, the gun never wavering. The man – young, in his twenties, and more of a technical worker than a guard, by the looks of it – glanced up at him and the weapon and froze. He placed the phone on the desk, the gentle thud resounding in the quiet. Alex's face was frozen.

"Show me the way out, or I'll shoot," Alex ordered, his tone blunt and forceful. The man rose out of his chair as if in a daze, his eyes never leaving the gun except to flick up to Alex's face for a second.

"Wh-Who are you?" the man stammered. Definitely a techie, if he didn't know who Alex was and had no experience with fighting, by the looks of it. He wouldn't be innocent, not by any stretch if he was working with Menarc, but he didn't appear to know how to deal with real life situations. He was probably one of the techies behind organising the missile launch.

"You don't need to know," Alex said coldly, drawing on every last memory of action films he had stored, praying the man wouldn't notice. He didn't seem to. "Show me the way out," Alex demanded again.

"I-I- I don't think I should do that," the man replied, and Alex had to admire his guts. The sentiment was destroyed in the next second when desperation began to show. He had to get out; the clock was ticking.

"I will shoot," Alex warned, but the man said nothing, only shaking his head over and over. Alex pushed down the despair and panic, and took the only course he could see open to him. Aiming the gun at the man's chest, he started to squeeze the trigger, ignoring the man's startled cry. At the last minute he pulled the gun down from the chest, burying a bullet in between the man's feet. The man uttered a quiet shout in surprise, flinching as if expected a bullet through the eyes at any second.

"Next time it will hurt," Alex said calmly, redirecting the gun to the man's body again, and raising his eyebrows. "You will show me the way out."

The man took a minute to recover his breathing, and Alex was aware of the time passing with excruciating clarity.

"You won't shoot me," the man said in a low voice, his tone gaining confidence. Alex realised he had underestimated him; the intimidation hadn't worked. The man simply thought he was a coward now. Burying his desperation, he scowled, and shot, without warning, a bullet straight through the man's lower left arm. The force of the bullet spun the man slightly, and he howled, clutching the arm to his chest as blood began to slowly flow. It would cause no long term damage, Alex knew, and he had deliberately aimed away from the arteries Scorpia had shown him so long ago now. But it would frighten him, cause him pain, and hopefully make him cooperative.

Alex straightened his arm, cocking his head to the side and asking, "Will you show me the way out?"

The man choked out a reply. "I'll show you, I'll show you," he muttered, his tone sharp with pain, and his eyes clouded. He bent over his arm.

"Lead the way," Alex retorted, gesturing with the gun towards the door and gaining no pleasure in watching the man flinch at the movement. He was trying so hard not to show his disgust at his own actions, or the way his heart was pounding a mile a minute. He had no choice, he told himself over and over again as guilt threatened to overwhelm him.

The man scuttled past him, never letting go of his arm. He turned right out of the corridor in the opposite direction to which Alex had come, and he experienced momentary gratification as he realised he had at least been heading in the right direction. Alex followed him out, the hand holding the gun never moving an inch. Every so often, the man would glance at it and clutch at his injury even tighter. The bleeding was slowing, and Alex knew the man would be all right, even though it would hurt like hell. Alex could barely feel his own injury anymore, due to the adrenaline coursing through him, but knew he'd probably need stitches and antibiotics by the time he was out of here and safe.

"Don't even think of getting anyone's attention," Alex said after a couple of minute's silence. "I won't hesitate to shoot you between the eyes if I feel threatened."

The man nodded, flicking his gaze to the gun again. It was becoming something of a nervous habit as they trailed the hallways, Alex noticed. The route was becoming convoluted, but more and more windows were appearing and the area looked less like a prison so he presumed they were going in the right direction. This was his main issue with this plan, as well as the obvious moral problems. He had no way of knowing whether he was being led in the right direction, and Alex hated being ignorant.

Less than a hundred metres from the room Alex had first threatened him in, the stranger turned to him and gestured to a non-descript door.

"This will take you outside by the main road out of the compound," he informed Alex. He took out a card without being asked and Alex recognised it as the same as the woman from earlier had held to open his own door. The gateway to the outside world slid open in silence and Alex stood stock still, breathing in the fresh air and rejoicing in the still night.

He looked at the man, knowing leaving him alive was a risk – a huge one – but not wanting to do anything drastic. The man hovered, probably knowing what he was thinking, and desperate to escape death. Alex hesitated for a moment longer before the pressures of time forced him into a quick decision.

"Thank you," he said, honest for the first time since they'd met. The man didn't relax, almost vibrating with the tension and pain. Although reluctant to make his situation worse, Alex reached out, quick as a flash, and whacked the gun down on the back of the man's head, wincing at the noise of the impact. The man crumpled, unconscious, and Alex muttered a small sorry, despite knowing he couldn't live with any other decision.

He took a deep breath and stepped outside the walls onto concrete. Immediately, a loud alarm started, and Alex jumped. Motion sensors, of some sort, he thought with a groan. Shit. If the gunshot from earlier hadn't attracted anyone – and it hadn't seemed to, presumably due to the fact the area had been abandoned – they'd definitely know something was up now. And the first thing they'd do was check the cameras, discover he'd escaped, and probably find the bomb.

The thought galvanised him into action, and he ran, his grip tight around the handgun. His exhausted body complained at him with every step and his vision swam in and out, but he didn't allow himself to stop. There appeared to be no one outside and he soon found the main road the man had described. He followed it a short distance, only about thirty metres from the compound when he heard a distinct boom. The bomb had exploded.

He didn't look around, knowing to stop meant certain death. Instead, he ran and ran, out of the main gates of the compound, bypassing the guards entirely who had legged it over to the main building when they'd heard the explosion.

He didn't stop running until his body gave out spectacularly, collapsing into a heap at the side of a road, about a mile from the compound. He shivered in the cold air, bringing his legs into his chest, his lungs struggling to draw in the air they so desperately needed and his legs stinging as lactic acid built up. He wasn't safe, not by a long shot, but he was out. He rested his head on his knees and shook with supressed sobs. He didn't want to ever remember what had happened in that place, or the things he had had to do to survive.

He wanted Ben.

* * *

_A/N: So, speedy update due to the fact that my laptop is back! I have lost everything :( but that hasn't stopped me from writing, and I'm getting really into this action lark, despite dreading it for chapters._

_I got a lot of mixed answers when researching average speed for a bullet from a handgun, so I picked one. I'm English, we don't have guns at all really, and so I confess I'm pretty ignorant on the whole thing. Any information on handguns and anything I may have gotten wrong will be greatly appreciated :)_

_Please, please, review, and thank you to those who did last chapter. It inspired me to write more, and it makes this all worthwhile. _

_Dreams x_


	20. Destinations

_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz_

* * *

_"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"  
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.  
"I don't much care where-" said Alice.  
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.  
"-so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.  
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."  
_

___(Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter 6, by Lewis Carroll)_

Alex gathered his strength together after only a moment or too sitting on the ground. He swiped his hand across his face, and sucked in a breath. Unwinding his legs, he heaved himself to his feet, swaying slightly on the spot. The adrenaline was fading now, and the aches and pains starting seeping in. He could feel every point of impact from Malin yesterday, and his arm was throbbing in time to his heartbeat.

He pulled his legs under him, forcing them to walk through the stiffness and _move_. The danger wasn't over, far from it, and he knew he had to get further away from the compound. The explosion would not hold them for long, soon enough they would check the cameras and discover he was missing. He didn't think they'd be so kind as to let him go free this time, not when he knew so much.

The road he was on was rural and mostly abandoned. So far, he hadn't seen a single car and he knew it would likely be a long trek to the nearest town. His body screamed at him with every step to stop, slow down, take a break. The cold of the night was seeping through his thread-bare clothes and he shivered continuously as he walked. It was hard to see what was on either side of the road, and he didn't dare leave it, despite knowing that he would be safer if concealed. He imagined fields, and every so often caught a glimpse of trees cloaked in shadows, but the light of the moon didn't grant enough light to see far. The road had streetlamps dotted here and there, pooling soft orange light onto the road, and although he was exposed to enemies in the light, he knew he had little choice. Alone, in the dark, and lost, he wouldn't survive long.

He had been travelling for nearly an hour when his body forced him to the ground again, the road swimming in front of him as his eyes started to shut of their own accord. He was freezing; his body shaking as it tried to generate heat and yet he knew, logically, that he should not be that cold. His arm was throbbing and the pain seemed to radiate out from the wound. He stumbled over to the base of a lamppost, and carefully removed the makeshift bandage surrounding it. He gasped at the pain, biting his lip as clumps of blood tore away with the cloth. The soft light from above allowed him to see the seeping yellow pus mingling with the fresh blood and he groaned. He did not need this. An infected arm would cause him serious problems, and he had no doubt it was infected – the red and inflamed skin around it and the onset of the fever he was currently suffering from helped tell him that much. He leant his head back for a moment, stifling a sob, as his strength seemed to seep out with the blood. He heaved a sigh and ripped another strip of cloth from his t-shirt with shaking hands. He was still wearing his school uniform, and Alex was sure a teacher would be horrified to see the state it was in. The white shirt was no longer that colour, stained with blood by his arm and ripped in several places. His trousers were crumpled and stained, and the tie had gone missing at one point. He wrapped the cloth around his arm, a choked noise uttered as pain sparked from the wound as he tied the new bandage.

He got up again, and he carried on, weaving from side to side as his vision wavered. Malnourishment and exhaustion – on top of the infection – were making his journey slow, and he fought panic at every step as he thought about how easy it would be for Menarc to catch him. He had to keep going, but he was so _slow_. His head felt thick, foggy, and half-formed thoughts scattered through his head and disappeared. There was only one word present now.

"Move," he said to himself, so quietly he wasn't even sure he had spoken aloud. It shattered the stillness of the night, and he blinked as the noise helped break through the mist in his head. "Move," he repeated, and it became a chant, whispered under his breath as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other.

* * *

Half an hour or so later – it was hard to keep track of time – he became aware of a low rumbling. He was so out of it that at first he thought it was merely his mind, or perhaps his stomach uttering its disagreement with its recent diet. It wasn't until the noise was nearly upon him, and it got louder and louder and louder that he realised.

"Help!" Alex cried out, sapping his strength with the words and hearing his voice croak. He didn't allow himself to think, didn't even consider that it might be Menarc. He knew if he didn't get help and out of the cold he could die out in the cold, alone and injured. He had to take a chance, and if he was honest, he wasn't even capable of rationalising his decision to yell at that point, anyway.

The tractor rolled nearer, and Alex began to make out the shape of a middle-aged man in the driver's seat. The vehicle was pulling hay or straw or something behind it, and Alex wondered what in hell the man was doing out at this time.

He stopped completely, facing the tractor coming up behind him fully and yelling again, waving his good arm in the air in desperation. The tractor came to a stop a metre or so in front of him, and the driver hopped down. He had a frown on his face and seemed wary. Alex didn't blame him – he must have looked a sight.

"What are you doing out here?" the man barked, and Alex recognized a Northern accent. He was still in England, and obviously somewhere up near Scotland.

"Please," Alex said, quieter and begging. "Can- Can you direct me to the nearest town?" Alex beseeched the man with his eyes, a lump in his throat. He didn't dare ask for a lift, knowing it might be seen as rude and yet was hoping strongly the man would offer. If he didn't . . . Well, sod manners, Alex would ask.

The man stepped closer, his face not softening. "Why are you out by yourself?" he asked instead.

"I-I got lost," Alex made up on the spot, knowing it was an awful excuse but too tired to come up with another. He felt his hand shake and clenched it in a fist. "Please," he begged again.

The man looked at him, and Alex met his stare. Whatever the man saw, it caused his face to lose the slightly wary look and he shook his head. "Get in the tractor," he said briskly, turning away from Alex. "I'll give you a lift to Lithen."

Alex hurried after him, hoping to hell Lithen was the nearest town. He hauled himself into the tractor with one arm and perched on the seat next to the man. He quite frankly wasn't that worried about getting into the car with a stranger; it really wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him.

"Thank you," he told the man gratefully. The man started the vehicle and it rumbled on down the road. It was loud, but the seat was comfortable and the man mostly silent. Alex allowed himself to sit back and relax. His head was still swimming, but his jelly legs had a chance to rest.

"What were you doing out so late?" the man asked after a couple of minutes of silence, his voice gruff.

Alex looked out of the tractor, contemplating an answer. "It wasn't purposeful," he admitted quietly, but his voice wasn't inviting. He hoped the man would ask no more questions.

"Hmm," the man said, glancing over at him. Alex didn't meet his eyes.

"Could you tell me where we are?" Alex queried, to forestall anything else he may say. The man shot him a weird look, which Alex didn't acknowledge.

"About fifteen minutes from Lithen," he said at last.

Alex winced. "Perhaps more vaguely?" he ventured. "What county are we in?"

The man uttered a disbelieving noise and choked out a low laugh. "Are you having me on, kid?"

Alex shook his head.

The man sighed. "We're in Cumbria, though it seriously disturbs me that you don't know that."

Cumbria? Well, that explained the rural nature of the area, and the Northern accent. But for Christ's sake, did Menarc have to take him as far North in England as possible? At least it wasn't Scotland.

"Thanks," Alex muttered, and the conversation died again.

"One of my horses started to foal," the man mentioned out of the blue, and Alex looked at him, confused. "That's what I was doing out at this time," he explained in answer to Alex's expression. "It looked like it would be a difficult birth, so I had to stay on the farm until the foal was safe."

"And is it?"

"The foal?" the man clarified, and Alex nodded. "Yeah." He smiled. "Both the foal and the mare made it through – now has a beautiful baby colt to look after."

Alex smiled tiredly back at him, resting his head on the seat. "That's good."

"'Tis a beautiful thing, watching a birth," the man continued, and Alex suspected it was more for the sake of breaking the silence than the actual words. "There's something magical about watching a new life begin, no matter how many times you see it."

Alex closed his eyes briefly. How different watching a creature come to life would be from watching one die – especially at your own hand. How he wished he had experience with the former, not the latter. "I've never seen a birth," he offered. The man braked as he went around a sharp corner, and there was silence for a second or two.

"You should, kid," the man said. "Gives you a new appreciation for life, it does."

Alex nodded, and the tractor fell quiet again.

"Not a great talker, are you?" the man said, his gruff voice loud in the small area. "I haven't introduced myself, have I?" he realised when Alex didn't reply. "The name's Max."

Alex hesitated. "Tom," he said at last, unwilling to disclose his actual name to a complete stranger. The man glanced from the road to him for a moment, and gave him an understanding look.

"Where are you from, anyway?"

"London," Alex answered, knowing the man wouldn't be able to single out one 'Tom' from a city of seven million.

"Explains the accent," the man said sagely. There were a couple of beats where no one said a thing. "Look, kid," he began uncomfortably, and Alex looked at him. "Have you got somewhere to go in Lithen? It's late, and whilst it's a pretty safe town, you shouldn't be out by yourself. Especially not after what happened today."

"I'm not a child," Alex snapped back immediately, but calmed quickly. "A friend's going to pick me up from there," he invented, the fog in his mind clearing the longer he rested. "I just got a bit lost on the way, couldn't get a bus, you know?"

Max didn't seem to believe him, but he didn't call him out on it. "Got money?" he questioned sharply.

Alex stayed silent for a moment too long, his normal fast reactions and responses dulled by pain and exhaustion.

"Take some out of the tub there," Max ordered him with a sigh, jerking his head to a box in the dashboard in front of him. "It's only spare stuff, but you could use it."

"I shouldn't-" Alex said awkwardly, staring at the coins.

"Take it," the man replied firmly, and Alex did as he said, picking up a couple of pound coins.

"Thanks," Alex responded, pocketing the change.

"Be careful tonight, kid," was all Max said.

Silence fell once again, but it was comfortable rather than oppressive, and Alex nearly drifted off to sleep. He was snapped out of his relaxed state by the tractor stopping, and Max's low voice.

"This is the town centre," he told Alex briskly. "There's a café over there, it'll be open all night for the night shift workers at the factory. She'll let you hole up until your friend comes."

"Thank you," Alex said, more grateful than he'd even been. He held out his hand for Max to shake, and the man did, his hand rough and steady.

"Good luck," Max wished him, and Alex nodded. Stepping carefully out of the tractor and wincing at the aches in his legs and body, Alex picked his way over to the café Max had pointed out. It was indeed open, and it advertised that it was so for twenty-four hours a day – except Sundays. The lights inside were dim, and the place looked deserted. Nonetheless, Alex stepped inside. His first port of call was phoning for help. He didn't have MI6's number – a stupid oversight that had yet to be corrected – nor any other governmental number. The normal police would call out those from Cumbria, and they wouldn't know what to do. No, his only option was to phone Ben, and hope to hell that he wasn't asleep. After finding a phone, came food, toilet, and rest, not necessarily in that order. Sleep was low on his list; he couldn't shut his eyes until he was safe at home.

"Welcome to Marney's," a girl behind the counter greeted him, her eyes tired and leaning against the wall. "Take a seat."

Alex smiled wearily and did as she said, carefully lowering himself into a chair at the back of the small café, facing the door. The table was covered in a quaint cloth with small red flowery patterns on it. The girl – or woman, really, she looked to be in her early twenties – came to stand in front of the table, placing a menu down for him to read. Alex worried at his lip, knowing he only had two pounds, and needing money for a phone call.

"Do you have a phone I can use?" he asked, not looking at the menu. "I can pay you for it," he hurriedly added when the girl frowned. She evaluated him for a couple of seconds, obviously taking in the blood and rumpled clothes.

"I'll ask," she told him abruptly, flinging herself away from the table and striding into another room.

A minute later, she came back out with an older middle-aged woman, wrapped up in a dressing gown. Alex immediately apologised for disturbing her.

She waved it away, smiling gently. "Don't be silly," she said briskly, her accent strong. "I wasn't asleep. Now Keira tells me you need to use a phone?"

"Yes please," Alex replied, rubbing a hand over his face and pondering how surreal this was, sitting down in a sweet local café and chatting to a woman and her daughter whilst Menarc was surely hunting for him. An itch to _move _and get out of the safe little room hit him, but he repressed it. The only way he would escape Menarc's clutches would be by getting someone to collect him. He didn't have the money or ability to get back to London by himself.

"There's a phone in the house you can use," she informed him, gesturing for him to get up. He did so, following her out of the door Keira had gone through originally. It turned out to lead into a lounge, complete with TV and sofas. Their house was obviously attached to the café. He was taken through to an entrance hall and handed a portable phone.

"Ring whoever you need," the woman said. "We'll be in the café when you're done."

"Thank you," Alex replied sincerely, fumbling in his pockets for the change Max had given him. He held it out.

The woman flapped her hands and shook her head. "Don't be silly," she retorted immediately, her Northern accent even stronger, if possible. "You don't need to give us money for the phone. We all need to stick together at this horrible time." Her face saddened, and Alex just knew that the missile had hit Birmingham as it had been planned. He took a breath, wanting to know, to ask, but fearing the answer. Did he want to learn the extent of the damage at this point?

Alex nodded, deciding not to say anything about it, putting the money back into his pocket but vowing to buy a cup of tea or something later to make up for it. "Thanks," he said again, and the woman smiled and left.

With slightly shaking hands, Alex sat down on the staircase and dialled Ben's number, praying he had remembered it correctly. The ringing tone soon came through and Alex took a deep breath. It was the middle of the bloody night, what were the chances of Ben picking up?

It rang and rang, and Alex felt fainter with every second that passed. He had no idea what to do if Ben didn't answer.

The mechanical voice asking him to leave a message kicked it, and Alex felt like he had just been hit in the gut. A hitched breath escaped him as he pulled himself together again in time to speak after the beep.

"Ben?" he began, deciding to keep in succinct. "It's Alex. Ring this number as soon as you get this."

He hung up the phone and stared at it. The throbbing in his arm yet again made itself known and he ran a hand through his hair. Right, it wasn't the end of the world. He just had to hang around long enough for Ben to wake up and get his message.

Images of rows on rows on Menarc men bearing down on the town crossed his mind, and he shook them away. No need to be fanciful, the truth was frightening enough. One or two men from Menarc could take him now, if they tried. He simply had to count on the explosion being distracting enough. He hoped desperately they wouldn't find him here.

He trailed through to the café again, spotting the woman chatting to a man in his thirties in working clothes, presumably on a break from his night shift. She saw him quickly and wandered over.

"Any luck?" she asked.

Alex shook his head. "He didn't pick up," he replied. "I left a message asking him to ring me back, if that's alright?"

"Of course," she confirmed. "Take a seat. I'll tell you straight away if he calls, okay?"

"Thank you," Alex said, so grateful to this kind woman. He had the weirdest habit of finding the worst, and the best, of humanity. He sat down at the same table again, glancing around at the café. Apart from the worker, he was the only customer there, and he liked it that way. The place was peaceful, but he couldn't relax. He needed food and drink desperately, but didn't want to spend the small amount of money he had in case he had to use it in an emergency, or if Ben never rang back.

Keira walked over silently, her eyes blinking slowly. She seemed to be falling asleep, and Alex didn't blame her. She placed a mug of tea on his table. "Free of charge," she said shortly, and turned away.

"I can't accept this," Alex said, hating the charity.

She jerked her head over to the strange woman. "My mother thinks you need the energy," she said, nothing except tiredness in her tone. The lack of pity calmed him somewhat, and he nodded uncomfortably.

"Thanks," he said. She shrugged as if to say it was nothing to do with her, and walked back to the counter.

He sat, still and silent, for over an hour. The tea grew cold as he absently sipped it, but Keira routinely came with a fresh cup. There was no conversation, and Alex's eyes were drooping as time went on. His arm was still throbbing, but it was a constant pain that he found easy enough to ignore. His stomach was grumbling, but the tea was easing his thirst. It was probably best for him to stick to liquids now, anyway, what with the low grade fever he could feel hovering over him.

Alex rested his head on his hand for a couple of minutes, noticing bleakly that Keira seemed to have fallen asleep against the counter. He didn't envy her; doing a night shift at a café had to be awful, especially as there seemed to be so few customers. He'd never heard of a twenty-four hours café before, but thanked god for the existence of this one – and that he had ended up in the north of the country with all the factories.

The sound of a phone ringing a few minutes later had him jerking into full awareness, staring with wide eyes at the woman who seemed to own the café as she smiled gently back at him. She stood gracefully from where she had been sitting chatting to yet another night-shift worker, and hurried into the next room. Alex strained his ears, but couldn't hear any conversation.

_Please, _he thought to himself, desperation flooding his mind. _Please, please, please, be Ben. _He didn't know what to do if it wasn't.

His heart leapt and he gripped the edge of the table when the woman popped her head into the café, holding up the portable phone.

"I think it's for you," she told him, her accent strong. "Alex, right?"

Alex strode over to her, taking the phone with a mumbled 'yes' and a 'thank you so much'. She smiled again, walked over to Keira and rapped her on the shoulder. Alex brought the phone up to his ear and took a deep breath.

"Ben?" he said, his voice low and hope straining in the short word. His heart was pounding.

"Alex?" came a frantic voice, and the boy in question had to sit in the closest chair as relief spread through him.

"Ben," he said again, in confirmation this time, his voice ragged and his breath hitching. _Hold it together,_ he told himself firmly.

"Where are you?" Ben asked, his tone so worried that Alex had to close his eyes.

"Lithen, in Cumbria," Alex said succinctly, not wanting to get into details over the phone. "Will you come?"

"Cumbria," Ben repeated, and Alex nodded in futility. Both of them knew the emotional reunion would have to wait – he wasn't out of danger yet. "You escaped from Menarc?"

"Yeah," Alex said in affirmation, purposefully pushing his mind away from the memories. "How long will it take someone to get here?"

"There's a team already near you," Ben told him, and Alex frowned. "They were investigating a compound up there – probably where you came from, yes?"

"Sounds like it," Alex agreed. His mind was racing; they must have noticed the explosion. What would they have thought?

"I'll get in contact with them, get them to meet you. Is there anywhere in particular you can meet?"

Alex cast his mind back to the dark journey in the tractor. He vaguely recalled seeing a park opposite the café, lit up by streetlights. It would be light enough to see the men coming, and he would have the advantage of being able to watch them from the café before they saw him. He would have to be careful, making sure they were SAS not Menarc before he ventured out.

"There's a park in Lithen," he said concisely. "I'll meet them on the little tarmacked part of it with the basketballs hoops. It's lit up by a streetlight and opposite a row of shops and cafes."

"Sounds perfect," Ben agreed. "I'll let them know – I can't imagine they'll be too long."

Alex toyed with the idea of asking Ben about Birmingham, the need to know wrestling with the knowledge that it wasn't safe for him to remain on the phone for long, and that it wasn't perhaps a conversation to take place over the phone. He decided against it, asking another question instead.

"How will I identify them?"

"You'll need some kind of code word," Ben concurred. "They've seen a picture of you and so will recognize your face, but if I tell them to say, umm . . . Scouting, when they see you? Will that work?"

Alex smiled for the first time in forever, knowing exactly where that word came from. He hummed a couple of lines of the song quietly down the phone, hearing Ben sing along.

"_And I wish I was James Bond, just for the day._" Ben laughed slightly. "I knew you'd figure that out. Will it work ok, though?"

"That's fine," Alex accepted, a hint of a grin still on his face. "I'll contact you as soon as they've found me," he offered, knowing Ben would be worried.

"You do that," Ben said, but Alex detected the gratefulness in the words. There was a moment's pause. "Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked at last.

Alex bit his lip, hating the nervous habit he was developing but finding it hard to stop. "Not badly," he said softly. "I'll be alright."

Ben sighed heavily but didn't question him further. "Ring me as soon as you're safe, alright?"

"I will," Alex promised.

* * *

When the word 'scouting' came from the mouth of one of four heavily built SAS men fifteen minutes later, Alex almost sagged with relief. The shortest one, who nevertheless towered over Alex, took a step forward and Alex allowed himself to be supported into their Land Rover.

"Let me look at that arm," the man was saying, but Alex wasn't listening. The fog in his mind grew again as it sunk in that – finally – he may actually be safe.

"It'll take us a few hours to get back to London," the one driving said, glancing over his shoulder. "Get some rest."

Alex did, his head sinking into the seat of the car as he allowed a single sigh to escape. He closed his eyes, safe in the knowledge that Ben would be there when he woke up.

* * *

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Not many more to go now :(_

_Lithen is made up, Cumbria isn't - ask me if you're from outside Britain and confused about locations (or go to Google maps). Hopefully everything is starting to come together now. The next few chapters should tie everything up, but feel free to prod me if I've left a massive plot-hole or something, which I'm prone to doing :)_

_Oh yeah, for those who don't remember - the song in this chapter, James Bond, is sung by 'Scouting for Girls', hence the code word. It's a good song and I suggest you check it out!_

_Please review and share your thoughts. It is so greatly appreciated._

_Dreams x_


	21. Masked Love

_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz, not me._

* * *

_'Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.'_

_(James Baldwin)_

Somewhere along the journey Alex woke up, his mind muddled and his arm throbbing. He was dimly aware of speaking to Ben on the phone, and sympathetic glances being thrown from one of the SAS men in the front. He struggled through the sea of mist in his head, knowing that his lack of coherency would be worrying Ben.

He drifted into sleep again.

* * *

Feeling safe was almost as perilous as being in danger, he mused when he next woke. Anything could have happened in that car journey. The men could have been taking him anywhere, regardless of their knowledge of the code word. Phone networks weren't one hundred percent safe. Menarc could have . . .

* * *

"Alex," came a sharp cry, as the boy in question gradually clawed his way back to consciousness for the millionth time. He was semi-aware that the car had stopped, and he ran a hand through his hair. Opening his eyes, he saw Ben's drawn face above him, and he smiled.

"Ben," he rasped, pulling himself fully upright and accepting Ben's helping hand to get out of the car. Once standing, he leant against the side and looked around. They were in an underground car park, not the hospital or home he'd been expecting.

Ben drew him into a careful hug, and as the cloudiness faded completely, the pain in his arm and the ache of his muscles became potent. He was bruised, battered, and exhausted. He wanted to go home.

"Are you alright?" Ben asked, holding his at arm's length, his shrewd eyes examining every inch. Alex shrugged with his good arm.

"Bit battered," he answered with a wry grin, unable to get over how much _better _he felt with Ben standing in front of him. "I'll be okay."

"Hello, Alex," came another voice, and the young spy peered past Ben.

"Mrs Jones," he greeted in resignation. He should have known – and had, if he'd allowed himself to think – she would have met him upon his arrival back in London. She would, of course, want to debrief him as soon as possible.

"Let's move this upstairs, shall we?" she said, sweeping away from them briskly and heading over to a plain black door.

"Upstairs?" Alex asked Ben as they, too, moved towards the door.

Ben understood his question. "We're underneath the Royal and General," he answered, offering a silent arm for support. Alex accepted with only a slight scowl, knowing it would be foolish to reject the aid when he was still so weak.

"Where are K Unit?" Alex questioned after a couple of beats of comfortable silence. The other SAS unit that had driven Alex were all still milling around the car, showing no signs of following them upstairs. Alex felt strangely relieved; they were an unwanted reminder of his captivity and desperation.

"Near Cornwall," Ben replied idly. "I was there too, but Mrs Jones sent a helicopter to fly me back to London when you were found, so that I could meet you."

Alex stared at him, mind racing. "Why Cornwall?"

"MI6 mobilised us a couple of days ago. SAS units were sent out to compounds across the UK that we had reason to believe had links to either Menarc or Scorpia. We were told to do some recon and infiltrate if necessary. That's why S Unit were near you."

Alex nodded in understanding. Ben smiled at him, squeezing his arm. "I couldn't believe it when you rang," the man confessed.

"I was lucky," was all Alex said. He didn't look at Ben, but could feel the man's gaze on him. Now was not the time for explanations.

"Stairs?" Ben said, his head tilted to the side in question when they passed through the plain door. Alex glanced towards the lifts and shuddered internally. His psyche was not strong enough to deal with being trapped at that moment.

He nodded to Ben, and allowed the older man to assist him up the winding steps. His arm was radiating heat and pain, and the fogginess was settling in once the adrenaline of seeing Ben again was fading. He felt awful, and suspected he looked it too. All he wanted was painkillers and sleep – but knew Mrs Jones would not allow that.

"What happened to Birmingham?" Alex asked in a quiet voice, his heart thudding as he waited for the answer. He'd been putting it off, trying to pretend to himself that it hadn't happened, that it wasn't real, but he had to _know_.

Ben glanced at him sharply, and Alex realised they wouldn't know he knew about it. Why would he? For all they knew, Birmingham was a terrorist attack by Al Qaeda and he'd been shut away whilst it happened.

"Menarc were behind it," he offered as a short explanation, knowing Ben would hear the whole story when Mrs Jones debriefed him in a few minutes. Ben nodded jerkily, his eyes concerned but surprise showing in the breath he took in.

"A lot of people have been killed," he said in a low voice. "The government's in uproar – Blunt's in the middle of it at the moment, that's why he's not here. There's fires and refugees and no one knows what to do." He paused, and Alex trained his eyes on Ben's tired face. "Nothing like this has ever happened."

"Are they evacuating?" Alex questioned quickly, details of his captivity coming back to him. So much of it had been blanked almost entirely from his memory as his mind and body struggled to deal, but he had to make himself remember now. Lives depended on it. "Menarc threatened another one."

Ben shook his head. "It's too chaotic to evacuate," he said as an explanation, but there was no surprise in his gaze and Alex realised they would have thought about the possibility of another missile. "Anyway, MI6 received an anonymous tip-off a few hours ago with the exact coordinates of the missile silo, and it's been secured by the Iraqi police with British supervision. If there's going to another, it won't be from there."

Alex knew instantly where the tip-off had come from, and he smiled bitterly to himself. He owed her so much, but she had been completely unstable, and he was almost glad she had been killed. He didn't know what would have happened if she'd survived. Perhaps she would have taken Alex for her own gain, or blown them both up.

They reached the top of the stairs in silence, Alex breathing heavily from the strain on his body.

"This way," Ben told him calmly, leading him down a plain corridor into a room that Alex instantly recognised as a medical area. Mrs Jones was nowhere to be seen, but there was a white-coated doctor sitting in a swivel chair at a desk. She jumped up as soon as Alex walked in.

"Mrs Jones told me to get you checked out first," Ben informed him softly "She'll meet us here soon."

Alex nodded, stepping forward away from Ben's helpful arm to shake the hand of the doctor.

"Mr Rider?" the woman said. "I'm Dr Greenaway. I'm just here to give you a general look over and wrap up any wounds you may have."

"Alex, please," he said politely, before collapsing into a chair. He wanted to hide his face and sleep. He didn't want to make idle chit-chat and listen to doctors and he bloody well didn't want to be debriefed by Mrs Jones.

Ben placed a hand on his arm, perhaps sensing his distress. Alex looked up at him, and was comforted slightly by his reassuring smile. "You'll be able to go home soon," Ben said, before sitting down next to him, and Alex nodded again.

Doctor Greenaway talked through everything she did as she took his pulse and blood pressure and checked his reflexes and the million other things a doctor did. Alex answered questions about his fever and dizziness and everything else mechanically, barely aware of what was going on. His mind once again slipped into a doze as he allowed himself to recharge and relax.

"Can you take your top off for me?" she asked at one point, and he did so, wincing ever so lightly at the pain that came from moving his arm. He was dimly conscious of Ben's sharp intake of breath and the tightening of his features as the wound on his arm was exposed, but he paid no notice, looking idly at the striped painting hanging on the wall and wondering what its significance was.

"When was this created?" Dr Greenaway asked professionally, peering at his arm with a clinical interest. Alex thought it strange how she described it as 'created', as if it was a piece of art like the one in her room. It sounded as if someone had poured over it with caring eyes, etching the line of red on his skin with infinite patience, instead of firing off a bullet meant to kill him with the precision of a circus animal.

"Alex?" Ben prompted, and the world snapped back into focus.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Um, a day ago? Two?"

The doctor frowned, bustling away to grab a bottle of something and some bandages. "The infection has been caught early then," she commented. "That's lucky, it'll be easy enough to treat. You'll have to take a course of antibiotics and keep it clean, but it'll clear up."

Ben asked a question or two, but Alex's attention drifted as she tended to his arm. He shook his head when she asked if he was injured anyway else, because everything else was just bruised, wasn't it? She eyed him carefully, but let it go.

"Is he done?" came Mrs Jones voice, and Alex turned, startled, to the door behind him where the woman was standing, her face blank. He wondered how long she had been there, and how unaware he must have been not to have noticed.

"I'll give him some painkillers then he can go," Dr Greenaway confirmed, rustling through her drawers.

"Antibiotics twice a day, yeah?" Ben queried, holding up a container of pills, and Alex bristled at being treated like a child – as ridiculous as that thought was, considering he hadn't been listening to a word the doctor had been saying.

Dr Greenaway nodded. "Until the course is finished, regardless of whether it looks better beforehand or not. If there's any other problems, take him to a doctor straight away."

"Thanks for your help," Ben said gratefully, standing up and shaking her hand. Alex did the same, trying to clear his head again. He had to _concentrate_, he couldn't allow himself to keep slipping like this. He swallowed down the painkiller he was given with a glass of water and hoped the effects would kick in soon. He felt like death warmed up.

"Shall we take this to my office?" Mrs Jones said, and Alex followed the two adults to the room in question, wrapped up in his thoughts. Focus, focus, focus, was going through his head as he wrestled with the thick fog in his mind. He couldn't relax yet. He had to _think_.

The painkiller was beginning to settle into his system as he lowered himself into a chair in Mrs Jones office. Her face was not unkind when she asked him to tell her what had happened, but there was no softness there. He hadn't expected there to be.

He narrated the tale of his capture from school, listening to Ben's interjecting explanations of their movements at certain times, and he told them about waking up in the hands of Watch, Mouse, and Trigger. Mrs Jones scribbled notes to herself as he talked, though he was sure the whole conversation was being recorded. He informed them of his own deductions regarding their motives, and he told them of Trigger's death with little emotion. He described the appearances of Mener and Malin as best as he could.

"Are you sure they engineered the missile?" Mrs Jones interrupted at one point, her face deadly serious and her mouth caught in a grimace.

"They claimed to have," Alex responded, and with no further interruptions he continued his story, up until he rang Ben in the café the previous night. Ben squeezed his arm when he was done, and he looked with sightless eyes at the blank wall behind Mrs Jones desk. He hadn't left out anything, included his own murder of the guard, and the telling had taken its toll. He felt mentally drained.

"Thank you, Alex," Mrs Jones said at last, before standing up. "If you'll excuse me for a moment." She swept from the room, and Alex sagged in his chair.

"You did well," Ben told him quietly, and Alex snorted. There was no 'well' in that sort of situation. You did what you could to survive, that was all.

"I killed a man in cold blood," he retorted, unable to meet Ben's eyes as the guilt flooded over him. He'd killed men before – of course he had – but never with a gun. He'd never been able to see the fear in their eyes, or the flecks of colour that decorated their skin, or had the time to consider what would happen if they had a family, wife, kids.

"It was him or you, Alex." Ben gripped his arm, twisting in his chair to look straight at him. "You did nothing wrong, understand?"

Alex nodded. He just wanted this to be over. Silence reigned for a short period of time, and Alex used the time to shut his eyes lightly.

"K Unit missed you," Ben said, his voice forcibly casual, as if to make up for the previous serious conversation.

Alex uttered a strangled laugh. "I missed them too," he said, his tone weary. "And you."

Ben blinked rapidly. Alex pretended not to see.

Mrs Jones entered the room again, and tension seemed to fill the air. "Alex, we need you to come to a government COBRA meeting," she said bluntly. "The Prime Minister wants to declare war on Iraq, and we need your evidence."

"We?" was all Alex could say, and Ben stood up beside him.

"Mr Blunt agrees with me," Mrs Jones said dismissively. "We cannot afford to enter another ill-thought out war."

"I'll come with him," Ben declared. Alex stood too, a wry smile on his face.

Mrs Jones shook her head, but Alex spoke first.

"They won't take me seriously if I turn up with a guardian," he said tiredly. "You know that, Ben."

Ben scowled, but abated. He could see the sense in that, even if he didn't like it.

Alex walked over to Mrs Jones. "Are we going now?" he asked. He hated it, wanted to go home and sleep and sleep and sleep, but at the same time he knew how important this was. It was his duty to help the government – and more than that, he wanted to ensure no more lives were lost due to an insane man's desire for revenge on Britain and a need to further his own profit.

She nodded briskly, gesturing for him to follow her out of the room. "I'll brief you on the discussion on the way there. A car is waiting for us."

Alex inclined his head in acknowledgement, trailing behind her and noticing absently that the painkillers had kicked in. The tiredness and weakness was still there, but his fever was slowly decreasing and his arm no longer throbbed in time with his pulse. He could walk without needing support, now, and that was important if he wanted to get anyone to listen to him at this meeting.

Ben grabbed his arm just before he was about to step outside, Mrs Jones leading him to the street rather than underground, this time.

"Be careful," he told Alex firmly.

Alex rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure a Cabinet meeting would be safer than anything else he'd been through lately. "It'll be fine, Ben," he promised.

"I'll wait for you at home," Ben answered, squeezing his arm gently and letting go. Alex felt his heart twist at 'home'. Ben's house had truly become that for him – a place of respite and comfort and somewhere he knew he would be accepted, no matter what. Alex closed his eyes for a second.

"I won't be long," he offered, soothing Ben's worries.

"Are you coming, Alex?" Mrs Jones called from her position by the passenger seat of a black car. Her face betrayed understanding beneath the strict exterior though, and Alex lingered for a moment.

"Go," Ben said, jerking his head. "Show them all what you can do."

Alex smirked slightly. "I'll see you later," he said, before loping over to Mrs Jones and climbing in the open door. He watched Ben as the car pulled away. The man waved a single hand in goodbye, before turning away. He'd see Ben again soon.

* * *

"Mrs Jones," a man greeted the woman in question as she and Alex entered the room. Alex resisted the urge to stare around the table at the powerful men and women, telling himself firmly that he'd been to one of these meetings before. He nodded to a couple of people before taking a seat next to Mrs Jones and Alan Blunt, who was looking incredibly serious and frustrated. Alex presumed he'd been updated on the Menarc situation. No one asked who he was.

"We cannot let this go unpunished!" growled a bald headed man from the other end of the table. "We will look weak if we do not react."

"What would you suggest we do?" asked another, who Alex recognised with a jolt as being the Prime Minister. He appeared haggard. Alex guessed this had been a mostly circular conversation.

"We need to be firm," continued the bald man – presumably from the military, judging by his dress. "We could send forces back into Iraq with the aim of completely destroying Al Qaeda there. We _cannot _afford to do nothing!"

"Let's not be hasty," argued a younger looking man in a suit. "A war in Iraq will damage our standing internationally, let alone the economic cost. You say we cannot afford to do nothing – well, we simply do not have the _money _to do what you suggest."

This spurred murmurs in the meeting, and Alex watched with interest. Blunt would let him know when the right time to intervene was.

"They attacked our country, killed our people," snapped yet another man. "We have every right – and indeed every inclination – to fight back. It's expected."

"Sending troops to Iraq is not the answer!"

"If I may," Blunt interrupted the emerging argument. "We no longer believe that Al Qaeda is behind the attacks."

"It came from an Al Qaeda compound," the military man pointed out harshly. "We have to react to it."

"It was a plot by the terrorist organisation Menarc. It was nothing to do with Al Qaeda at all," Mrs Jones said smoothly. "Attacking Iraq would achieve nothing but international arguments and protests at home."

"They bombed our country," a man spat. "No one would condemn us for reacting to it."

"Perhaps not," agreed Mr Blunt, "but there is no justice in attacking a country who were not to blame."

"Menarc, you say?" asked the Prime Minister. Blunt inclined his head. "How sure are you of this?"

"Very," Blunt said firmly. He looked at Alex briefly, seeming to consider his next words. "I have the agent who has last been in contact with Menarc with us here."

The men up and down the table glanced at Alex with raised eyebrows. He could see their point – although he had been allowed to clean up a bit, he was still a scruffy teenage boy with bruises on his face and body and blood seeping through a bandage on one arm. He looked nothing like a serious MI6 agent – although a couple were smiling at him and Alex thought they may have been at the last COBRA meeting he attended.

"A child," one man stated, his face drawn into a frown.

"Alex has helped us on several occasions, which you well know, Mr Gresham," Blunt said, his eyebrows raised.

Alex decided now was a good time to put his opinion across. "I was taken by Menarc several days ago," he told the listening politicians, his voice hard. "They revealed their plot to bomb Birmingham from an Al Qaeda compound. Their aim is for us to send troops to Iraq and remove those from Afghanistan, as well as to inflict damage on our country."

"Why?" the Prime Minister asked, and Alex was pleasantly surprised by how seriously the man was taking him, and his ability to ignore the highly-strung emotions in the room. Then again, a man did not become the leader of a country for no reason.

Alex shrugged with one arm, and noticed absently that the PM's eyes were drawn to his bloody shoulder. He winced, a tiny almost unseen movement, and Alex recalled that the man had children of his own. "Menarc operate as Scorpia did, having taken over that organisation. They have a client, a rich man who owns the oil company Tolo, which gains much of their oil from Afghanistan."

Mutters immediately arose throughout the table.

"Tolo is a well-respected international company," a previously quiet woman down the other end of the table informed him, her tone outraged. "What evidence is there to prove this?"

"None," Alex said shortly, shaking his head. "You asked me what Menarc gained from this. I'm telling you."

The Prime Minster sent a quelling look down the table, warning them to be quiet. "Continue, please, Alex."

Alex ran a hand through his short hair. "Their client wants the removal of troops from Afghanistan which are disrupting his oil company in the area. He has no presence in Iraq, and so it was decided to send the troops there to eliminate any competition. The damage to Britain was merely a plus – he hated Britain."

"Clever," one man commented reluctantly. "If we sent troops into Iraq, most – if not all – of NATO would follow us. Nearly all of the forces in Afghanistan would be removed."

"Then perhaps that option is no longer in the cards," the Prime Minister established.

The military man spoke up. "We have no evidence to accuse Tolo of this. What would we tell the public? We'd look weak!"

"Looking weak is a price we may have to pay," another man argued. "We cannot enter another war foolishly."

"Are you certain of this information?" The Prime Minister asked Alex searchingly. "If you have any doubt, we need to know."

Alex hesitated for a millisecond, before recalling the images from Menarc. No, he was certain. "I'm positive," he responded firmly. "Al Qaeda were not responsible."

The PM nodded. "Thank you," he said, before turning to the rest of the table. "I suggest we take a break to think about our options now."

The meeting adjourned. Men and women in the room began shifting about, some leaving the room immediately, others lingering to discuss serious matters with neighbours. Alex was dimly aware of Mrs Jones speaking to him.

"Well done, Alex," she said, leading him out of the room. "That's our cue to leave. Mr Blunt will remain and continue the discussions. If there are any more queries, he will get in contact with you."

"What will happen, do you think?" Alex asked Mrs Jones as they left the building. He breathed in the fresh air and shut his eyes briefly. The meeting had been interesting, but bloody stressful.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I imagine a diplomatic solution may be found."

Alex nodded, exhaustion piling into him as he leant back into the comfortable seat of a government car. "What happens now?"

"You go home, get some rest," she told him, her voice surprisingly soft. "You've done your part, Alex."

"They'll keep looking for me," Alex said, a hint of a question in his voice. "They'll want revenge for the bomb."

There was silence for a couple of seconds.

"Yes," Mrs Jones agreed eventually. "I imagine they will."

Alex looked out of the car window, watching the city pass by and wondering when it would all be _over_. There was no more conversation.

* * *

Alex rang Ben's doorbell, shivering in the cold outside air. The temperature had dropped, a British summer failing once again to last, and autumn seeping in weeks too early.

The door opened, and Alex caught a glimpse of Ben's face as he was swept into a tight hug. He rested his chin on the man's shoulder, dimly aware of Mrs Jones' car pulling away behind him. He breathed in deeply, pushing away the moisture that threatened.

"You alright?" Ben asked, pulling away to allow him into the house. Alex nodded, his voice too choked to speak for a moment. He trailed behind Ben into the kitchen, sitting in his familiar spot and watching Ben bustle about making a cup of tea. K Unit didn't seem to be home yet, still down in Cornwall, he presumed.

"I'm okay," he said at last, the warmth of the freshly brewed tea rising in waves. Ben glanced at him, before smiling and sitting down opposite him.

"K Unit will be back soon," Ben commented, sipping at his tea. Alex nodded, relaxed back into his seat, and closed his eyes. He was home.

* * *

_A/N: I apologise for the wait! I hope to finish this within the week - there is, I think, just one more chapter to go._

_I hope you are still enjoying this, and are not too confused. If there are any queries or looming plot-holes, please feel free to let me know!_

_Please review and let me know your opinion :)_

_Dreams x_


	22. Changes

_Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz, not me._

This is it. The last chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

'_Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life'_

_(J.K. Rowling)_

* * *

'_God grant me the serenity _

_to accept the things I cannot change;_

_courage to change the things I can;_

_and wisdom to know the difference.'_

_(The Serenity Prayer)_

* * *

_Two Weeks_

There was a news programme on TV, Alex noted absently as he sat on the sofa next to Ben. Both were cradling a cup of hot tea, as the British were wont to do. It was three o'clock in the morning.

"Describe it to me," Ben requested softly, his voice shattering the silence of the room. Somewhere above them a floorboard creaked, and Alex shivered in the dim light. He stared blankly at the TV.

"The bombs kept falling," he replied at last, his voice so quiet Ben had to lean forward to hear better. "No matter what I said, they didn't stop. And it was always you that got hurt – and K Unit were there, and Jack, and Tom-" he cut off, fighting to maintain an impassive face.

Ben sighed, his face tired. It had become a routine, this. They spent several mornings a week sitting next to each other in the lounge, Alex recounting his latest nightmare to the quietly listening Ben. It had been Dr King's suggestion, a way of helping him to open up and deal with the events instead of burying them as he had before. In the wake of the bombing, Alex's nightmares had multiplied, and Ben had been at a loss. They were both desperate for this new dealing technique to work.

"Analyse it for me," Ben said, because Alex often needed to decide and think through them himself.

"It wasn't real," came the low voice. "They launched one missile only, and no one I knew was hurt. Jack-" he choked, "Jack was already dead."

Ben nodded, and Alex felt a moment's annoyance at his calm. It was tempered by the comfort of Ben's hand on his arm. Having somewhere there when he woke from a nightmare was a privilege he was not used to. It made the cold early mornings so much more bearable.

"Knowing it's not real doesn't stop me dreaming it," Alex pointed out, turning to glance at Ben, challenging him to deny it.

"No," Ben agreed. "But talking about the dreams might."

Alex looked away. He didn't know whether he believed that or not. Hoping had got him nowhere, in the past.

"What about your nightmares then?" Alex asked rebelliously. And it was true, he had noticed that sometimes Ben was already fully awake when Alex went to find him, and he had once caught Ben in the throes of a bad dream – twisting and muttering in his sleep.

"I talk about mine to my psychiatrist," Ben retorted calmly. "Dr King has said you're still reluctant to do so."

Alex bit his lip, understanding the truth in that statement. He'd prefer to speak to Ben than his psychiatrist any day, which is why they'd agreed Ben would sacrifice his sleep to keep Alex company when he awoke in the night. They had been desperate to halt the onslaught on the nightmares when Alex arrived home. He had not been able to get a full night's sleep at all, and even napping during the day hadn't helped. He'd been exhausted and frustrated with himself. Ben and Dr King came up with this solution, and he had so far managed to reduce the nightmares so that he could gain some proper sleep on occasion.

"I'll tell you about my nightmares if you like," Ben continued. "Last night I dreamt Menarc had killed you and sent you back in little pieces, each with a note claiming I had killed you."

"Ben-" Alex began, guilt stirring within him as Ben recounted his dream. None of it had been Ben's fault; he had tried his very best to keep Alex safe.

The man ignored him, his eyes faraway. "Before that I dreamt I was in a forest, looking for you. I could hear your screams, but could never find you."

"Ben," Alex interrupted again. "This- This situation" he spread his hands wide; "it was not your fault. Not at all."

"I know," Ben confirmed, though Alex wasn't so sure he truly did agree. "But that doesn't stop the nightmares, does it?"

Alex nodded, recognising his own words.

"The point I'm trying to make is that I understand, Alex," Ben told him gently, looking at him seriously. "You just have to hope things will get better."

"And if they don't?"

"I'll still be here," Ben said with an easy smile. "So will K Unit. No matter what, we won't leave you alone."

Alex nodded again. Ben seemed to understand, and stood up to put the kettle on once more.

"Coffee this time?" he called. He was presumably trying to give Alex space to think about their conversation.

"Decaf please," Alex answered, before focusing on the TV screen. It was a 24 hour news channel, and as such there was very little new information.

"The death toll from the Birmingham bombing has risen once more as a thirty-year old woman passed away from her injuries yesterday morning," the newsreader was saying, and Alex heaved a sigh. Every day there was another story of a death – someone's mother, father, daughter, partner . . . It never seemed to end.

"-the Prime Minister will again reassure the public that the Iraqi government is handling the situation perfectly tomorrow in a speech to the Commons-"

There were footsteps on the stairs and Alex cocked his head, listening. The house was fairly busy in the night time, full of insomniacs. K Unit had continued to take turns staying at the house whilst Mrs Jones and Blunt struggled to organise a deal with Menarc in return for his safety. They seemed to care very little for their men in prisons throughout the world, and MI6 was finding it hard to arrange a deal that was acceptable. Mrs Jones had sworn they would keep trying, and in the meantime the protection on the house had tripled. Alex was not allowed out without guards, and he wondered what would happen once he returned to school after the summer holidays in September.

"Hey," Eagle said quietly, entering the lounge and plonking himself down on an armchair. Alex knew he had been battling his own night terrors after returning from Iraq, and he was another frequent morning wanderer.

"Coffee?" Ben asked from the kitchen.

"Please," Eagle replied with a nod. Alex turned back to the TV.

"-the Iraqi police have been carrying out raids against suspected Al Qaeda members and have sworn that they will flush out the men responsible for the attack-"

"Makes me sick that they can't tell the truth," Eagle murmured, and Alex glanced at him.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Not that this sudden interest from the Iraqi police in terrorists is a bad thing," he carried on. "I mean, arresting Al Qaeda members is great, but . . . They weren't truly the ones to blame."

Alex nodded. "The government have no proof though," he said with a shrug. "They couldn't accuse a millionaire oil company owner of mass murder and terrorism on my word only."

"They should," Eagle said with a quick grin in his direction. "You're more trustworthy than most."

Alex felt a warm feeling in his chest, but didn't respond.

"-the decision not to move more troops into Iraq was criticised yesterday by the head of the large oil company Tolo, who declared that Britain have made themselves look weak in the face of rising terrorism. The man in question is currently awaiting trial in the USA for fraud and multiple counts of tax evasion-"

Alex smirked upon hearing that news again. When Mrs Jones had first informed him of it, he had bristled with the knowledge that the man would go down in history as just one of the many men desperate for money, and not as a mass murderer. He'd gotten used to it, by now, and found the situation comical. The man had not achieved his plan, and was now facing a lengthy prison sentence. As a US citizen, MI6 had been unable to engineer anything personally, but had involved the CIA – and particularly Joe Byrne – who had been more than happy to ensure the man was sent to a secure prison for a good long time. Alex was reassured by Byrne personally that the head of Tolo was not going to weasel out of it.

"-though many have also condemned the government's decision to leave the policing of these terrorists to the Iraqi government, the Prime Minister and his cabinet stand by their choice. The Chancellor of the Exchequer's speech in parliament last week declared that Britain could not financially or morally justify another war, words which have gained him much support from political activists-"

"Good," Eagle commented randomly, despite already knowing the news. Alex agreed silently.

Ben appeared juggling skilfully three mugs of coffee, and Alex jumped up to take one. The other was handed to Eagle, and Ben joined Alex on the sofa.

"It's just such a waste," Ben said quietly, staring at the TV. The screen was now showing photos of the days after the bombing. The area of impact was a wreck. People were buried under the rubble, firemen were working desperately to subdue the fires that had sprung up from damaged gas pipes and the heat of the bomb, police and ambulance crew were struggling to hold their composure together. Alex couldn't tear his eyes away from the now familiar images. The same photos were recycled every day on the countless programmes covering the disaster. International aid was given, official condolences and promised of support granted from the USA, France, Japan, Germany . . . Everyone was in a rush to offer help, but it did little to quell the fear springing up in British society. Many were whispering amongst themselves – _we were attacked, and the government did nothing_, some said. Others: _how can we trust a government that does not protect their people?_

Alex doubted the Prime Minister would win the next election. It was a shame; he'd liked him.

"Yeah, it is," Alex agreed with Ben's statement.

"So much destruction, all because of one man wanting to make more money," Ben commented, his voice cracking. "I mean, Jesus, I'm not excusing the 7/7 bombings or anything, but they had a purpose at least, some sort of faith or aim or belief. He had – what? A love of money? A petty hatred of Britain?"

"He was mad," Alex said, running a hand over his face. "And Menarc gave him a chance to express his insanity."

"I don't think he was crazy," Eagle offered thoughtfully. "It was pretty calculated, wasn't it? Madness excuses it almost, suggests he wasn't thinking straight. He was. He was just evil."

Alex nodded, acknowledging the truth in Eagle's words. "At least he'll spend his life in prison now."

"On fraud charges?" Eagle said, his eyebrows raised.

Alex shrugged, and spoke with a smirk that belayed the seriousness of the conversation. "I've been assured he'll find prison a nice place to retire," he said, only half-joking. "The CIA has promised."

"It pays to have connections," Ben said with a quiet laugh, and the discussion turned to lighter matters. Alex reached for the remote and turned the TV off. There was no point torturing themselves with the images now. The events couldn't be changed.

* * *

_Three Weeks_

It was sunny but cold. Alex stood, shivering, in the park where he had played football with Tom before. MI6 agents were milling around inconspicuously, and he tried his hardest to ignore them. He crossed his arms, relishing in the fact that his arm was pain-free. The antibiotics had worked wonders, even if he did now have another hideous scar to add to his collection.

"Alex!" someone called behind him, and he turned with a huge smile.

"Tom," he greeted, stepping forward to embrace the boy - manfully, he might add. "How have you been?"

Tom wasn't smiling as much as he used to. There were shadows in his eyes when previously he had had none, and his face was drawn. He had lost his aunt and three cousins in Birmingham, and his uncle had been injured. The man, upon awakening to discover his family had been wiped out, had thrown himself under a bus. He'd lived, but barely. The attack had more widespread effects that simply the initial deaths.

"I'm alright," Tom answered, and the lines on his face eased. "You?"

Alex shrugged. "Getting there," he said honestly. "It's been a hard few weeks," he admitted.

Tom smiled wryly. "That it has."

"Football?" Alex asked with a forced grin.

Tom looked at him, and let out a long, slow, breath, before smirking. "Why not?" he answered, kicking the ball away from Alex and running towards a goal post.

Alex followed. "Cheat!" he called, as Tom scored a goal. His friend did a victory dance on the grass, laughing all the while. Alex stole the ball, sticking his tongue out at Tom.

Hearts don't heal that easily, but the aches can fade.

* * *

_Four Weeks_

"Are your nightmares clearing up?" Dr King asked in one of their sessions. Alex looked at the odd man, dressed today in a baggy t-shirt with 'Rolling Stones' emblazoned on it.

He shook his head.

"Any change at all?" his psychiatrist persisted.

Alex sighed. He hated this, hated talking to the bloody stranger about his _feelings_ and thoughts and nightmares.

"Alex, you have to talk to me," Dr King said. "I cannot help if you won't communicate."

Alex breathed out heavily again. "Fine," he declared. "No, my nightmares have not cleared up. Yes, they have reduced, and yes, Ben is helping. Anything else?"

Dr King sat back in his chair and looked at him for a moment. "Tell me, Alex, why are you here?" he questioned abruptly, and Alex blinked.

He opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say. "To get better," he answered at last.

"Good," Dr King said with a nod. "And how are you going to achieve that?"

"Isn't that why you're here?" Alex said, a tad rudely.

"I'm not a miracle worker," the man informed him, raising an eyebrow.

"If I wanted Jesus himself I'd have gone to a church," Alex retorted. Dr King smiled, a strange expression on his face.

"I can't change anything without your cooperation."

"I don't want to change," Alex answered, with a frown. "I just want to be able to live properly."

Dr King's expression turned almost sad. "Change is a part of life, Alex," he said gently. "I will make a guess and say that you are not the same person you were two years ago, am I right?"

Alex thought back. Two years. He would have been fourteen, just before Ian died. Innocent. Young. _So bloody young._ He would have Jack, and an absent uncle. He would not have met K Unit yet.

"No," he responded eventually.

"See?" Dr King said. "You've already changed. Everyone does. My job is to help you adjust to that change."

Alex stared at the man. "How?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"You need to start accepting yourself now," Dr King told him firmly. "I want you to go home and make a list of the ways your life has changed over the last two years, in detail. Then say whether the change was negative or positive, and what made it so. Okay?"

Alex cocked his head. Homework? He could live with that. A list was already running through his head.

_MI6. Madmen and bombs and threats and fear. Ian's death. Jack's death. Yassen and his father and Scorpia and Invisible Sword. Negative. Negative. Negative._

_Ben, _came a small voice, in amongst the painful recollections. _K Unit. Acceptance and comfort and maybe even love._

"I'll see you next week," Dr King said, but Alex was no longer listening.

_Family, _he thought, allowing himself to smile slightly. _Positive._

* * *

_Five Weeks_

Alex found himself sitting in Blunt's office on a lovely sunny summer's day. The August sun had finally beaten through the clouds, and was shining feebly through the window. Alex smiled to himself. The sun could make anything look beautiful, even the drab oak furniture in the office. Ben had promised to go out for a run with him later, and Alex was looking forward to it. His leg still got stiff from the old injury, but running seemed to help stretch it out. Anytime spent in the sun was good, anyway.

"Thank you for coming in, Mr Rider," Blunt said, looking at him across the desk. Mrs Jones was sat next to him. Her face looked almost human in the soft sunlight.

"What's this about?" Alex asked, somewhat warily. He didn't think they would call him out on a mission, not when he was still recovering, but he wasn't sure. It had been over a month, after all.

"We have received confirmation from Menarc that they will leave you alone," Mrs Jones told him, her voice holding just a tiny bit of warmth. Alex felt a shock travel through him.

"Are you serious?" he queried. The organisation had been refusing all demands to negotiate on that front since the bombing. They wanted revenge, pure and simple.

Blunt raised an eyebrow. "When are we not?"

Alex wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. Could Blunt be making a small joke with him? Surely not. He was pretty certain the head of MI6 had no idea what humour even was.

Mrs Jones seemed to read his mind, and offered a small smile. "We are all human," she said, so quietly Alex wasn't sure he was supposed to hear at all.

"I suppose so," he said in an equally soft voice.

Blunt cleared his voice, his expression serious. "They have agreed not to seek revenge on you, but will not swear to refrain from attacking or harming you if you seek them out, understand?"

"Why would I go after them?" Alex asked incredulously. "I value my life."

"Good," Blunt said shortly. "You're a valuable asset."

Alex looked at him. That had been a compliment of some sort, he was almost completely certain. He was going mad; there was no question about it.

"Your guards have been informed of the change," Blunt informed him. "You are free to leave the house without supervision, now, although you will understand if we keep the house under surveillance."

Alex nodded. "And Ben?" he asked, without even knowing what his question was.

"You will stay with Agent Daniels," Mrs Jones reassured him. "If you are both satisfied with the situation, that is."

"We are," Alex replied, gratefulness seeping into him. He was no longer going to be hunted by Menarc. He could live without looking over his shoulder – until he pissed off the next lot of terrorists, that was. He smirked to himself.

"You will contact me when you next have the need?" Alex said.

A hint of surprise showed on Blunt's face. "We will," he responded.

Alex hated it at times – loathed the destruction the job wreaked on his life – but he didn't think he could give it up. Seeing what had happened to Birmingham made him decide for certain. He wouldn't allow it to happen again, if he could help it. And he had Ben now. When he came home from missions, Ben would be there, and Ben would help. He wasn't alone anymore.

* * *

_Nine Weeks_

"Spaghetti or penne pasta?" Alex asked the men grouped in the lounge. He'd decided it was his turn to cook tonight, allowing Ben a night off.

Various requests were made, and Alex sighed in consternation. "I'm going with spaghetti," he decided.

"Pity," Eagle pouted. The man had perked up recently, and Alex figured his nightmares had reduced. All of K Unit had moved out once Blunt had given the all clear, although Eagle was still staying with his sister whilst trying to find a flat in London. They met up regularly, with the soldiers popping round for company or food. They had been placed on leave again, whilst all tried to recover fully mentally. They shouldn't have gone on the mission to Iraq – or Cornwall – and the SAS seemed to realise that. Never let it be said that the army don't take care of their own. They'd granted the unit extra leave to make up for the actions of MI6.

"I'm cooking, so I decide," Alex retorted, sweeping back into the kitchen and filling a pan with water. There was a faint sound of the TV in the lounge, and casual voices chatting.

"Need any help?" Ben asked, appearing in the kitchen with an easy smile.

"I've got it under control," Alex replied, pulling down the spaghetti and digging out some chopped tomatoes from the cupboard. "Go and relax, Ben," he instructed the older man.

"Nah," Ben said, taking a seat at the table. "It's too noisy for me."

"Old man," Alex said with a grin. He put on a timer and sat down next to Ben.

"Child," Ben retorted, sticking his tongue out.

"Hypocrite," Alex commented, kicking him under the table.

"Children, children," came a voice, and both Alex and Ben turned to look at Snake, who was lurking in the doorway. The man had softened as time went on, and Alex reckoned the man had been just as damaged by the death of their teammate Leopard as Eagle had, he just had a different way of dealing with it.

"Now, he's the old one," Ben told Alex in a fake whisper, jerking his thumb at Snake who also took a seat at the table. "He got bloody married!"

Snake's lips twitched upwards, but he didn't reply.

Alex chuckled at Ben's antics, and got up to check on the pasta. His seat was quickly taken by Eagle, who had come in to investigate what was going on.

"It was getting lonely in there," he declared. "Wolf's not a great talker."

"I don't know what you mean," Wolf defended himself gruffly, walking into the kitchen.

"You're all grumpy old gits," Alex said with a laugh, grabbing an onion out of the fridge.

"Hey!" Eagle cried in mock offence. Alex turned to look at them all, raising an eyebrow.

Wolf was leaning against the kitchen side, observing the proceedings with cool dark eyes, and a relaxed look. Eagle was grinning, practically vibrating in his chair. The dark smudges were hidden by his lively eyes. Snake was watching Eagle, a slight smile on his lined face. And Ben? Ben was looking at him with kind eyes and a gentle smile, his head cocked to the side in his listening pose. Alex felt a moment's rush of affection for them all, warts and all.

That didn't stop him throwing onion peelings at Eagle when he tried to pinch some tomatoes.

* * *

_A/N: Changes is now officially complete, and I feel like crying. I blame that on the fact that it is nearly 3 am where I am._

_I've been working on this for over three years (although much of that was procrastination), and I am at a loss of what to do now. Watch this space - I'm not leaving this fandom forever! Changes itself will be given a makeover - little plotholes filled in, the first few chapters rewritten, but nothing drastic. For now, I'm taking a break. But I hopefully won't be long!_

_If there are still any questions, let me know :)_

_Thank you to everyone who has supported me throughout this story - I won't name you all, because I haven't the time (sleep is calling), but know that every word of encouragement or praise you have written has been gratefully and lovingly received. Thank you all._

_Please do review and tell me your opinion!_

_For the last time then,_

_Dreams_


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